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Children of Destiny 



A Play in Four .Acts 



By 



SYDNEY ROSENFELD 




G. W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS NEW YORK 






Copyright 1910, by 
G. W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY 

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. 

This play is fully protected by the copyright law, all re- 
quirements of which have been complied with. In its pres- 
ent printed form it is dedicated to the reading public only, 
and no performance of it may be given without the written 
permission of Mr. Henry B. Harris, owner of the acting 
rights, who may be addressed at the Hudson Theater, N. Y. 

The subjoined is an extract from the law relating to copy- 
right. 

Sec. 4966. Any person publicly performing or represent- 
ing any dramatic or musical composition for which a copy- 
right has been obtained, without the consent of the pro- 
prietor of said dramatic or musical composition, or his heirs 
or assign?, shall be liable for damages therefor, such dam- 
ages in all cases to be assessed at such sum not less than 
$100.00 for the first and $50.00 for every subsequent per- 
formance, as to the court shall appear to be just. 

If the unlawful performance and representation be willful 
and for profit, such person or persons shall be guilty of 
a misdemeanor and upon conviction be imprisoned for a 
period not exceeding one year. 



SPECIAL NOTE. 
To protect the British Copyright, the first public performance of 
this play was given at the Globe Theatre, London, England, on the Sev- 
enteenth of February, 1910. 



©CI.D 20814 






t 



To that unusual combination — a manager and a friend, 

Mr. Henry B. Harris, 

this play is gratefully inscribed by 

The Author. 



Characters. [In the order in which they appear.] 
Mrs, Richard Hamlin. 
Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
Laura — her daughter. 
Rose Hamlin. 
Maid. 

The Count di Varesi. 
Fred Garvin. 
Walter Hobart. 
Edwin Ford. 
Julius Langhorn. 
Waiter. 

SCENES: 

Act I. Boudoir of Mrs. Hamlin, Washington, D. C. 
[One year elapses.] 

Act n. Cafe des Americains, Nice, France. 

Act HI. -'Rosamond's Bower," Monte Carlo. [Night of 
the same day.] 

Act IV. Hobart's apartments at the hotel in Monte 
Carlo. [The next morning.] 



Children of Destiny 



ACT I. 

SCENE: The boudoir of Mrs. Hamlin, Washington, 
D. C. 

DISCOVER; Mrs. Hamlin, Mrs. Winfield-Chase, 
and her daughter Laura. 
They are sipping tea. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
And how long do you expect to be abroad? 

Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
It rests largely with Laura. 

Laura. 
That's a habit mother has fallen into. She always says, 
"It rests largely with Laura," when Laura has no voice in 
the matter, at all. 

Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
[Reprovingly.] Now, you know your happiness is the 
first consideration. 

Laura. 
That's very dear of you, mother, but my happiness 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

doesn't require a trip abroad, at all. I should be quite 
happy to remain at home in Washington. 

Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
We won't go over that ground again. [To Mrs. Ham- 
lin.] We are to meet some very pleasant acquaintances 
at Nice, and we purpose doing the Riviera together. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
How delightful! And you sail on Saturday? 

Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
Yes. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 

Then that little romance of Laura's has not [With 

a questioning glance at Laura.] 

Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
Oh, Laura has her own ideas of her career. [Changing 
the subject.] It must be a great comfort to you to feel that 
your daughter has got beyond the stage of conjecture. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
Yes, it is. 

Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
And has the date been set yet, for her marriage? 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
Some time in the early autumn. 

Laura. 
[With enthusiasm.] Now there's a man worth losing 
one's heart to. Fred Garvin has position — distinction — and, 

in fact Oh! Here you are! 

[Enter Rose.] 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

Rose. 
[Kisses Laura and greets the others.] I am sorry to 
have kept you waiting. 

Laura. 
We were talking of Fred Garvin — you were just in time. 

Rose. 
[Bashfully.] Oh ! 

Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
[Going to her and taking her hand.] You ought to be a 
very happy girl. 

Rose. 
I am. Almost too happy. 

Laura. 
Can one be too happy? 

Rose. 
I sometimes think my nature is too intense. I have 
such floods of delight over little things that I can't be nor- 
mal. 

Laura. 
[Laughingly.] You wouldn't call Fred Garvin a little 
thing ? 

Rose. 
Hardly. So you can imagine how I can be too happy 
over the greater ones. I am wondering whether it can be 
right for any one to be so completely absorbed in another 
as I am in that dear boy. 

Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
[Consolingly.] Don't be alarmed about that symptom, 
I have heard engaged girls talk before. 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
But Rose is right, to a certain degree. She is too much 
of an extremist. There seems to be no middle distance 
for her. She is always either way up — or way down. 

Laura. 
[Affecting wisdom.] The neurotic temperament, I be- 
lieve the doctors call it. 

Rose. 
[With a smile.] Aren't they clever — these doctors — to 
have a name for everything. 

Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
[To Mrs. Hamlin.] I hope you won't forget, when 
the happy day comes, that it was through me you met Fred 
Garvin. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
Indeed I shall not. I do hope you will be back in time 
for the wedding, 

Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
That will rest largely with 

Laura. 
[Quickly.] No, it won't — I mean to come home for it. 

Rose. 
[Reminde'd.] Why — sure enough — ^you're going abroad. 

Laura. 
On Saturday. 

Rose. 
So soon! Then you will miss the Embassy Ball! 

8 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
We've had all the social functions we need this winter. 

Laura. 
And besides, ^e've met the star attraction in private — 
we don't have to wait over for him. 

Rose. 
The "star" attraction? 

Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
Laura means the new Italian attache. One of those 
handsome, middle-aged, mysterious creatures, who is set- 
ting all the managing mammas agog with excitement. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
Who is he? 

Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
The Count [trying to think of his tiame] di — di 

Laura. 
[Supplying it.] Di Varesi. 
[Mrs. Hamlin gives an involuntary start.] 

Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
Haven't you met him? 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
[Almost inaiidibly.] No. 

Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
That's strange. I mentioned your name to him casually, 
and he spoke charmingly of you ; as though you were old 
acquaintances. But one can never tell from these for- 
eigners. 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
{Recovering herself.] The name sounds familiar. A 
number of years ago — in Rome — I think I did meet a di Va- 
resi. It would be singular if it were the same man. 

Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
[Lightly.l It is — no doubt. 

Laura. 
{Affectionately nestling near Rose.] I shall miss you 
dreadfully. There is no one who quite fills your place 
with me, Rose. You are really the most sympathetic crea- 
ture I ever met — you just overflow with kindness. 

Rose. 
{Smiling. ] Not always. 

Laura. 
Always. Why, everybody loves you. Rose. Even those 
that I don't care for commend themselves to me for their 
love of you. There is something about you — I don't quite 
know how to put it — so much deeper, more ardent, than the 
usual American girl. Why, when I think I shall have to 
manage without you for one whole year {Puts hand- 
kerchief to her eyes.'] Isn't it silly of me ! 

Rose. 
It's your own sweet nature that finds the goodness in 
others. 

Laura. 
Fudge ! 

Rose. 
I am just happy, dear, that's all. I have so much happi- 
ness that some of it must overflow. 



lO 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

Laura. 
[With comic severity.^ Well, you can just tell Fred 
Garvin from me, that if he doesn't make you the best hus- 
band that ever drew the breath of life, he'll have me in 
his hair before he can turn round. [With a comic after- 
thought.] I hope he doesn't wear a toupee. 

Rose. 
[Laughs.l 

Laura. 
And tell him, too — he wants to let up on his work. He's 
overdoing it. It's all very well to be one of the most pros- 
perous lawyers in the District of Columbia, but he's get- 
ting too pale for a fiance. That's my opinion. 

Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
[Who has been conversing in an undertone zvith Mrs. 
Hamlin.] Well, Laura, are you regulating the universe, 
as usual? It's time we were going. 

Rose. 
Oh, must you go? 

Laura. 
Oh, well, mother has made out a list of her conges. I 
don't see the sense of paying farewell visits to people who 
wouldn't miss you if they never saw you again. 
[Telephone bell rings in an adjoining room-.] 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
Will you pardon me? [Goes off to telephone.] 

Laura. 
You'll answer my letters, won't you, dear — I mean to 
write to you every week. 



II 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

Rose. 
Surely. 

Laura. 
And don't forget what I told you to tell Mr. Fred Gar- 
vin. 

Rose. 
[Laughing.'] No, indeed! 
[Mrs. Hamlin returns from telephone.] 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
Excuse domestic details — but [to Rose] Mr. Garvin sends 
word he will be here at four o'clock, and you must be sure 
to be at home. 

Rose. 
He's leaving his office early. 

Laura. 
That's a step in the right direction. I was telling Rose, 
Fred was getting pale from overwork. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
He says [with mock gravity] it's a matter of business. 

Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
[Laughing.] We know these matters of business be- 
tween sweethearts. He wishes to tell his devotion in a 
different key. 

Laura. 
[With a sigh.] Well, good bye! [She kisses Mrs. 
Hamlin^ then goes to Rose, and kisses her affectionately. 
Mrs. Winfield-Chase makes her adieux to Mrs. Hamlin 
and Rose.] 



12 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

[Servant ENTERS with a card, and goes to Mrs. 
Hamlin.] 

[The visitors, escorted by Rose, leave the room.] 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
[Suppresses an exclamation cts she reads the name on the 
card.] In the parlor? 

Servant. 
Yes. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
In a few moments — up here. 

Servant. 

Yes, ma'am. [EXIT.] 

[Mrs. Hamlin, quite disturbed, seems irresolute — then 
looks at herself in the glass, and determines to improve 
her appearance, for which purpose she withdraws a mo- 
ment into the adjoining room.] 

[The Count di Varesi is ushered in by the servant. He 
is a handsome, well-groomed man of fifty. He speaks 
without any dialect, but with a slightly foreign intonation.] 

Count. 

Thank you, 

[He looks about the place in a vague sort of way, then 
finds a photograph of Rose on the mantelpiece, which he 
holds up and regards with interest, as Rose ENTERS 
gaily, expecting to find her mother.] 

Rose. 
I beg your pardon. 

[She starts to go into her mother's room. The Count 
hc^ bowed to her, mentally comparing her tvith the photo- 



13 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

graph. On the threshold of the room Mrs. Hamlin joins 
Rose, and returns with her into the sitting room.] 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
The Count di Varesi! [Greeting him.] 

Count. 
[With great courtesy.] Madame! 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
Permit me to present my daughter, Rose. 

Count. 
[Takes Rose's hand, and holds it.] Your daughter? 
Charmed! [As he releases her hand.] Your mother and 
I are old friends. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
[Trying to be at ease.] Yes — and as such we may have 
many confidences to exchange. Rose — don't forget, four 
o'clock. 

Rose. 
No, mother. [With a bow, and a look of puzzled inter- 
est, she goes out centre.] 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
And to what am I indebted for the honor of this visit, 
after so many years? [They are seated.] 

Count. 
Your husband is still living? 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
Yes — if one can call it living. The doctors are constantly 
prescribing new climates for him. He is now in Arizona. 



14 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

They give me little hope. At his time of life — ah — you 
see, one can battle against everything but Time. 

Count. 
Time, the Conqueror. And yet, Time has dealt kindly 
with you. The same amber light in the hair — the same 
liquid fire in those wonderful eyes. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
[P rote sting. "[ Please 

Count. 
Nature has been very gracious to reproduce herself in 
that girl. She, too, has her mother's charm. I noticed this 
at a glance. Ah, there is some happiness in recalling the 
past, after all ! 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
And much misery. 

Count. 
More happiness than misery. At least, I mean to in- 
sist on the happiness. That is why I have come here. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
To insist — do you say? You still cling to that word? 

Count. 
I wish you had not sent Rose away so soon. I should 
have liked to study her a moment longer at close range. 
Your daughter ! The desire is only natural — eh ? 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
My daughter. Yes. 

Count. 
Perhaps — the wish being father to the thought — I should 



IS 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

have caught a glimpse of myself. We are but vain crea- 
tures, the best of us — and it would have gladdened my 
vanity to have caught even one flash of the eye that I 
should have recognized as mine ! Ah — she is beautiful — 
our daughter ! 

[Mrs. Hamlin rises suddenly, and Hashes an angry look 
upon him.] 

Mrs. Hamlin. 

[With growing intensity.] What does this mean? It 
cannot be that, after all these years of silence, you have 
come to bring home to me the folly of those days in Rome. 

Count. 
[Calmly.] Let me remind you that I wish to recall only 
the happiness of the past. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
Then why have you come? 

Count. 
All in good time. Let me indulge myself for one brief 
moment in the luxury of retrospect. You will credit me 
with some forbearance, possibly a little heroism — in hav- 
ing kept away from you all these years — when I tell you 
that even at this moment, the wonderful joy of being the 
father of that girl is almost overpowering me. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
You have not come to reveal yourself to her ? 

Count. 
[After a steady look into her eyes.] No. [She gives a 
sigh of relief.] Nor have I come to awaken a single re- 
gret in your heart for all that has been. 

i6 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
My regrets need no awakening. They have been my 
vigilant sentinels through the weary, weary years. 

Count. 
Come now, Isabelle — that is morbid. You are a happy 
mother, a distinguished woman, moving in the sunlight of 
fine friends. It would be a pity if your nature were not 
broad enough to hold a little twilight corner in peace — 
sacred to a hidden memory. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
You are still a dreamer. 

Count. 
Yes — I come from a land where we not only dream 
dreams ; we live them. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 

But this is a practical, work-a-day world, where dreams 
vanish. 

Count. 

Not so. One page of my life was flooded with gold, 
and to that page I have ever turned and returned. I have 
read it over and over again, under the same glittering stars, 
to the strains of the same music, to all the glory of the 
night and heaven. I have never forgotten you, and I 
shall never forget you. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
Why do you tell me this now? 

Count. 
It was a mockery of fate that you were married. And 



17 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

in a loveless union with a man many years older than your- 
self. Love comes unbidden and takes no heed of circum- 
stance. Maid, wife, or widow, I should have loved you 
still the same. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 

But the sin! 

Count. 

I have never called it so. You chose to remain in your 
husband's house. 

Mrs, Hamlin. 

It was my duty. 

Count. 

There again we differed. But you did remain, because in 
his old age you said he needed you. We parted. You said 
you would forget. I should never hear from you again. 
Well — you kept your word, but I did hear of you — when 
Rose was born. [With great elation.] My daughter! The 
fever to come and claim her was almost stronger than I 
could bear ! But I did not come ! The death of my father 
brought me into large possessions. But what were riches 
to me, feeling as I did that they should be shared by an- 
other. When the appointment in the embassy came to me, 
I accepted it eagerly. I determined to carry out a plan I 
had long formed for the use of my fortune. This very 
day I have put that plan into execution — and it is mainly 
to tell you of it that I am here. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
I fear this may be another act of folly in your too ro-> 
mantic life. 

Count, 
Listen, and you shall see that there is a practical side 

i8 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

to my romance. [After a slight pau^e.] I wished my 
fortune to go to your — to our daughter. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
Impossible ! 

Count. 
It did seem hard to contrive at first. Of course at my 
death I might bequeath it. But, in the first place, why 
should I wait? In the next place, it would make talk if 
a strange Italian nobleman left his fortune to your daugh- 
ter. Scandal is too easily roused — even if — looking at the 
thing practically — there might not be a contest of the will. 
I took legal advice. I consulted the most prominent law 
firm in Washington. They advised me to avoid complica- 
tions by giving away my fortune before my death. I have 
•to-day signed a deed of gift making Rose Hamlin the sole 
beneficiary. She will receive, as a birthday gift, the sum 
of two million florins. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
Rose ! 

Count. 
It was all very simple. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
But what did the lawyers say? What could they think? 
What reason did you give for wishing to do this thing? 

Count. 
I was not called upon for reasons. But even if I had 
been — the lawyer's office and the confessional have one 
thing in common — the sacredness of confidence. 



19 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
[With vague misgiinng.] No — no — it isn't right. 

Count. 
And why? Did I not have the right to purchase this 
happiness? I feel that, at least, is owing for all my years 
of forbearance. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
[Still zvith the same dread.] What have you done! 

Count. 
I cannot understand your tone of dread. Surely you do 
not fear that I shall ever betray the secret ! 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
No. I know you too well for that. The betrayal will 
never come from you. But I have a strange premonition 
that this will bring no good. 

Count. 
Nonsense. [Lightly.] I know those premonitions of 
old. [Changing the subject.] I should love to say good 
bye to Rose. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
Not yet. [Comes back to the subject.] Who were the 
lawyers ? 

Count. 
A firm, recommended to me, by the way, by some friends 
of yours, the Winfield-Chases. You know Mrs. Winfield- 
Chase. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
Of course. Of course. What was the firm? 



20 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

Count. 
Hargraves. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
Did you consult Mr. Hargraves? 

Count. 
No. He handed me over to his junior partner, who 
seemed to be a specialist on wills and bequests. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
Mr. Fred Garvin? 

Count. 
You know him? 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
[Seems struck dumb.] 

Count. 
[After a puzzled silence.] Why, what is the matter? 

Mrs. Hamlin. 

[With self-control.] Oh, nothing. You must go — you 
must leave me to work out this problem by myself. I 
feared the practical side of your romance. My worst fears 
are realized. [Rising.] We will talk no further of this 
now, but before you close your eyes to-night, pray — pray 
as you never prayed before, that no harm may come of 
this. 

Count. 

Won't you explain ? 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
No — in a week — in a month, perhaps — there may be 
more to say, though if your prayers are heard there will 
not be — but until then — good bye. 



21 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

Count. 
And you do not wish me to wait and see — 



Mrs. Hamlin. 
No — no [Extending her hand.] Good bye! 

Count. 

[Taking her hand, and kissing it with deep feeling.] 
Good bye. [As he goes to the door he encounters Rose 
entering.] Good bye, Miss Rose — or perhaps — au revoir. 
[He speaks in a gentle, winning tone, and holding her hand, 
gazes deeply at her.] 

Rose. 

[Simply.] Au revoir. [Releases her hand.] 

[He bows and goes off.] 

[Mrs. Hamlin, overcome and Ump, sits broodingly, as 
Rose hurries down to her.] 

Rose. 
[Gaily.] Mother, it's four o'clock. Do you think I'd 
better dress for a motor ride? That's no doubt what Fred 
is coming so early for. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
No, I think not. 

Rose. 
[With concern.] What is the matter, mother? 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
I am not very well. 

Rose. 
What has happened? 



22 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
[Evasiz'ely.] I have heard bad news from old friends 
through the Count. 

Rose. 
He might have spared you any bad news. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
Not everybody is so considerate. 

Rose. 
Perhaps I might lighten the burden for you. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
[As if coming to a sudden resolve.] Rose — sit down — I 
want to speak with you. 

Rose. 
[Eagerly seising a footstool, and seating herself at her 
mother's feet.] Yes, mother. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
I am thinking that when Mr. Garvin comes, you'd bet- 
ter send him to me. 

Rose. 
Yes? Why? 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
Why should he trouble your dear head with business? 
I am a little disappointed in Mr. Garvin for wishing to do 
so. It was not thoughtful of him. 

Rose. 
Oh, I wouldn't say that. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
The more I think of it, the more I disapprove. I have 



23 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

noticed on several occasions that he shows a domineering 
way — a sort of "possession" in his manner towards you, 
that strikes me, to say the least, as premature. 

Rose. 
[Trying to smile it oif.\ Why, that's what a young girl 
loves ! — that is, from the man she means to marry. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
He sends word in a peremptory way, "I shall be up at 
four," as if he were giving orders to his valet. 

Rose. 
[Growing distressed.^ I never heard you speak like that 
before. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
I want you to be happy. 

Rose, 
Happy? Mother! I could not imagine any happiness 
without him. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
[With growing alarm.] Don't say that! 

Rose. 
[Infected by her alarm.] Why not, mother? 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
No one has the right to make her life's happiness abso- 
lutely dependent upon another. 

Rose. 
Not upon her future husband? 



24 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
You are not married to him. If my soberer judgment 
discovers his faults, it is my duty to point them out to you 
before it is too late. 

Rose. 
You have heard something to his discredit. It's a slan- 
der. That foreign Count has said something to prejudice 
you against him. [In a tone of reproach.] And you lis- 
tened to him. [With intense elation.] Why, if the whole 
world rose up against him, he himself would be his own 
answer. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
You are too emotional, my child — there is a vein of medi- 
aeval romance in your nature that I am unable to ace 

\She stops short as its origin flashes through her mind, 
and -finishes under her breath] that surprises me. 

Rose. 
Oh, mother, it hurts me to hear you say that. If I am 
ardent, and loving and passionate, am I not your daugh- 
ter? [With her arms about her mother's neck.] Haven't 
you given me the nature I have? Hasn't love been my 
birthright ? 

Mrs. Hamlin. 

[Taking her in her arms.] My darling Rose — I only 

want to school you, as I would school myself, against a 

disappointment. Now answer me calmly. What if you 

should learn that Mr. Garvin is not all that he should be? 

Rose. 
That is not possible. 



25 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

Mrs. Hamlin. . 

Heaven grant that what I feel may be only my foolish 
fancy. I only wished to probe your feelings, so that, should 
the unforeseen occur, you could meet it not wholly unpre- 
pared. 

Rose. 

{With growing intensity, almost to the point of violence.] 
I should be wholly unprepared. No misgiving — no foolish 
fancy could alter my feelings. You must understand me, 
mother. If anything came between Fred and me I should 
not wish to live. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 

[Aghast.] Rose! 

Rose. 

[Continuing, in a torrent of emotion.] I am not like 
other girls, mother — I sometimes tremble at myself. I have 
thanked God that the current of my life has flowed as it 
has, towards all that was good and beautiful. That same 
current might have turned in other ways, and then all the 
ardor, all the depth, all the intensity, might mean wreck 
and desolation. Oh, I know myself, and I am afraid. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
[After a moment of restless anguish.] Rose ! My Rose ! 

Rose. 
I don't know what Love may mean to others. No book 
knowledge can define it for me. If I were a man, I sup- 
pose his spirit of possession might come nearer explaining 
it than anything else. But, mother — I am almost ashamed 
to own, I have that same spirit of possession — it rises and 
rises again — it fills my veins, it bewilders my thoughts. 

26 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

For good or for evil — to have and to hold a passionate 
kinship with a dear one seems all there is in life ! 

[She is quite overcome, and sinks on the sofa, burying 
her head in her hands.] 

[Mrs, Hamlin goes to her and stands contemplatively 
over her.] 

[Fred Garvin, holding his hat in his hand, appears at 
the door.] 

Fred. 

I took the liberty of coming up. 

Rose. 
[At the sound of his voice quickly recovers, and dashes 
towards him, all trace of her grief vanished.] Fred! 
[He takes her in his arms.] 

Fred. 
Why, you are not dressed for our spin. I thought you 
would take it for granted that I should come in my car. 

Rose. 
[Beaming.] There, mother! Didn't I tell you! I shan't 
be a moment! [Runs off excitedly.] 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
[Quietly.] But you said you wanted to see her on busi- 
ness. 

Fred. 
[Lightly.] What of it! There is no law to prevent our 
talking business in a motor car. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
It seemed a little odd to me that you should have tele- 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

phoned as you did, and left your office so early, for I know 
how busy you are. 

Fred. 
Oh, a man may indulge himself, once in a while. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
To tell you the truth, I am a little relieved at your light 
tone. 

Fred. 
You were not alarmed, were you? 

Mrs. Hamlin. 

I was, almost 

Fred. 
What business could that little girl and I have together, 
that would alarm anybody? 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
Quite so. I have been beset with misgivings of late. I 
dare say my doctor can prescribe for them. 

Fred. 
Misgivings? What about? 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
If you will lay aside your hat for a moment. [He does 
soJ\ Don't you care to talk over the matter, such as it is, 
with me before you speak to Rose ? 

Fred. 
It seems hardly worth while. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
Somehow, that doesn't ring true. 

28 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

Fred. 
No? 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
I don't think you would have made this special appoint- 
ment if it hadn't been worth while. 

Fred. 
Well, what do you imagine? What was my motive? 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
What was it? 

Fred. 
[With a laugh.] Which of us is being cross-examined? 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
{With calm seriousness.] I may have done an unwise 
thing, but I have just had a serious talk with Rose. 

Fred. 
What about? 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
[Beckons him to he seated.] I wished to sound her feel- 
ings for you. 

Fred. 
Did they need sounding? 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
[Appealingly.] I beg of you, don't assume this care- 
less tone. I have heard things — strange things — that have 
disconcerted me. I appeal to you as an old friend. Give 
me at least your sympathetic attention. 

Fred. 
[Honestly.] I assure you of that. 



29 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
I had a visitor this afternoon. An old friend whom I 
had not seen in twenty years. 

Fred. 
Yes? 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
Do you not divine who it was ? 

Fred. 
How can I? 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
[Impatiently.] I want an honest answer. 

Fred. 
Well, really, Mrs. Hamlin 



Mrs. Hamlin. 
Did you not have a visitor this morning, who repre- 
sented himself to be an old friend of ours? 

Fred. 
Of yours? 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
Of mine. 

Fred. 
Well — yes. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
What did he have to say to you? 

Fred. 
Now, really, is it not straining our friendship a bit, to 
ask me to violate the sanctity of professional confidence ? 



30 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
These are mere words, Mr. Garvin — for if my premoni- 
tions are not absolutely groundless, you intend to violate it. 

Fred. 
[A little resentful.] What do you mean? 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
Would you be wanting to speak with Rose if that visit 
had not taken place? 

Fred. 
You are taking too much for granted. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
Answer me. 

Fred. 
And if I decline? 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
I am already answered. And how did you mean to com- 
municate the object of your visit to my daughter? 

Fred. 
How much of what took place do you know ? 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
All. 

Fred. 
And does Rose 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
She knows nothing. You understand how deeply I am 
concerned in what you have to say to her. 
[ENTER Rose, ready for her ride.] 



31 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

Rose. 
Well, are you ready? 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
Not yet. Mr. Garvin and I are having a talk. I will 
send for you. 

Rose. 
[Protesting.] But this isn't fair. Fred belongs to me. 

Mrs. Hamlin. ■ 

[With authority.] Go. [As Rose reluctantly moves 
away.] You may take off your coat and hat. I don't think 
you v^^ill need them. 

Rose. 
Mother ! 

Fred. 
[Interceding.] Do you think this is necessary? 

Rose. 
[Hurries to his side, holds his hand affectionately, with 
a look of appeal.] 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
[With a gesture bids her leave.] 

Fred. 
[Concernedly leads her to the door, and dismisses her 
tenderly.] In a little while. [She looks questioningly 
from one to the other, and goes out sadly.] 

Fred. 
It seemed unnecessary to give her this pain. 



32 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
Are you quite sure you did not have a greater in store 
for her? 

Fred. 
You seem determined to make me play an ungracious 
part. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
All men are cowards. They work along the line of least 
resistance. Why could you not have come to me first? 

Fred. 
What I had to say concerned only Rose. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
[Slightly aghast.] Surely you did no mean to tell ..er 

about 

Fred. 
About what? 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
[After a moment's embarrassment.] What you may 
have heard of me. 

Fred. 
If I had heard anything, is it likely? 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
[With a slight bitterness.] Violation of confidence, I 
suppose ? 

Fred. 
Precisely. [After a slight pause, during which he is evi- 
dently making up' his mind.] Mrs. Hamlin, you tell me 
you know the full purport of a certain visit to my office. 
Before I proceed — what was the name of my visitor? 

33 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
The Count di Varesi, 

Fred. 
[Nods his head.] Now I want you to place yourself in 
my position. I am betrothed to your daughter. This 
client, absolutely unaware of my relations with your fam- 
ily, makes me the recipient, little by little, of information, 
touching upon the most intimate concerns of his life, and 
that of a certain woman, whose name, of course, is not 
mentioned. Imagine the thought that flashes through my 
mind, when I am instructed to make, in my client's name, 
the gift of a very large sum of money — to Rose Hamlin 
— your daughter. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
[Quickly.] You asked his motive? You questioned 
him? 

Fred. 
I did not need to question. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
He betrayed himself. 

Fred. 
No. No one could have dealt with greater delicacy with 
so difficult a task. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 

Then how 

Fred. 
But remember. He was my client. It could not be a 
case of betraying himself. He charged me with secrecy. 
Without framing a single compromising question, I gath- 
ered, in a professional way, all that I needed to know. 
Facts are facts — even when they are unspoken. 



34 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
And then you concluded at once that 



Fred. 
Don't ask me to put my conclusions into words. Imag- 
ine, if you can, my feelings as a man, not as a lawyer — 
after he had gone. When the duty lay before me of call- 
ing upon Rose, to place in her possession this bounteous 
gift from an unknown friend. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
You should have come to me. 

Fred. 
Why? To have given you needless pain and embarrass- 
ment? To tell you all that I knew — and all that I con- 
cluded? If you had not questioned me as you have done, 
do you think you would ever have heard from me, that 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
Then what would you have told Rose? 

Fred. 
No more than it was necessary for her to know. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
Perhaps I have done you an injustice. Perhaps I have 
misinterpreted your object in seeking this speedy visit to 
Rose, In that case, I ask your pardon, ^n my great 
worry and excitement I feared for her happiness. Of 
course, no blame can attach to her. It could not affect your 
feelings for her. For a moment I dreaded your drive with 
her this afternoon, lest you should betray even in the 



35 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

slightest degree a change of heart towards her. [Slight 
pause.] You don't answer? 

Fred. 
What answer do you expect? 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
[With a return of all her previous misgivings.] You 
are keeping something back from me. 

Fred. 
[With an almost cynical smile, and a vain gesture of 
trying to answer. 1 Well ! 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
You did mean to reveal something to her. It was as I 
feared. You did mean to wound her. What would you 
have told her? 

Fred. 
[Uncomfortably.] There are a hundred ways of break- 
ing off an engagement, without 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
[Dismayed.] Breaking off an engagement! You don't 
mean that! 

Fred. 
Why, in my position 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
It is cowardly. It is cruel. It will break her heart! 

Fred. 
[With irritating lightness.] I hope not. 

36 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
I tell you it will. You don't know how she loves you. 

Fred. 
It will be a painful task. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
This can't be. It must not be. 

Fred. 
I don't want to add to your distress. It is an irksome 
situation. I had hoped to avoid this interview. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
And let Rose face her misery alone ! That would have 
been brave of you. 

Fred. 
A man can't always be brave. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
[With growing intensity and betraying fear for herself l\ 
I don't trust you, Mr. Garvin. You and your cant about 
the violating of confidence. When Rose demands the cause 
from you, you will tell her. 

Fred. 
You need have no alarm on that score, I 



Mrs. Hamlin. 
[As before.] I don't trust you. If you are cowardly 
enough to break off the engagement through no fault of 
hers, you would not stop at that. 

Fred. 
There are some duties a man owes to himself and society. 



37 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
To society! Faugh! 

Fred. 
Of course I cannot expect you to hold the same views on 
that subject as I have. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
And who are you — and what claims do you possess, that 
you dare take this tone with mef 

Fred. 
[With great cynicism.] It is only those whose claims 
on society are beyond cavil who can afford to despise it. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
You shall not do this thing! Do you understand me! 
If your engagement is to be broken off, it shall be broken 
off by me. 

Fred. 
As you choose. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
I shall call in Rose, and end all between you. 

Fred. 
If your method seems less harsh 



Mrs. Hamlin. 
Harsh! [With a look of contempt at him, she goes to 
the door and calls.] Rose ! Rose ! 

Fred. 
What are you going to say to her ? 

38 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
I shall tell her that you are not worthy to be her hus- 
band. 

Fred. 
I protest ! 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
And it is the truth. You are absolutely unworthy of her. 
And she shall learn it from my lips. 
[ENTER Rose.] 

Rose. 
Well, are you all through? 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
[In excitement.] A little while ago, I told you that I had 
heard things about Mr. Garvin that made me doubt the 
wisdom of your marriage. 

Rose. 
And I wouldn't believe them. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
I have given Mr. Garvin a chance to defend himself. He 
has failed to do so. 

Rose, 
[Going to hint, with honest conviction.] I hope you un- 
derstand that it is not I who ask you for a defense. [To 
Mrs. Hamlin.] Mother, you had no right to question the 
man I love. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
You are a foolish, romantic child. I know a mother's 
duties. 

Rose. 
It is too late to question him now. When I told him I 



39 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

would become his wife, it was because I loved him — for 
what he is — not for what he had been, or might become. 
[To Fred.] You know that I trust you, don't you — and 
that nothing can make any difference between us. 

Fred. 
Yes, Rose, but 

Rose. 
But what? 

Fred. 
I can't ignore your mother's attitude — and if we must 
part 

Rose. 
[With deepest anguish.] Part! 

Fred. 
I must try to bear the pain of it as best I may. 

Rose. 
Pain ! My God ! Do you know what you are saying ? 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
Come, Rose. When we are alone, we will try to bear it 
together. 

Rose. 
No — I shall not go. I will let no shadow kill the happi- 
ness of our lives. [To him.] I don't know what terrible 
lie has come between us, but tell her, Fred, my darling 
[clings to him] that it is a lie. You can't be unworthy. 

Fred. 
No — I am not unworthy. 



40 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

Rose. 
[Triumphing.] I knew it, mother! 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
But all the same I have decided. 

Rose. 
[Flashing upon her mother.] How can you decide, 
mother? 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
[Evasively.] Fred is going away. 

Rose. 
Where is he going? 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
[As before.] Not here — not now. Come. 

Rose. 
[To her mother — pleading.] Oh, leave me with him— 
just for a moment. 

Fred. 
[Going to Mrs. Hamlin.] Only for one moment. You 
need not fear. It shall be as you desire. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 

[Going.] I shall return in a few minutes. [Clasping 
Rose in her arms.] My darling — forgive me for the pain 
and sorrow of it — but it has to be — it has to be. [She 
goes out.] 

[Rose is about to speak.] 

Fred. 
[Immediately plunging into the subject, without waiting 
for Rose to speak] [in a calm tone.] Just a moment, Rose, 



41 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

before we lose ourselves in feeling. There is a matter of 
business that I must dispose of first — the business that 
brought me here. 

Rose. 
What do I care for that? 

Fred. 
Just one moment, dear ; listen as calmly as you can. 
Your birthday will occur to-morrow. I am the custodian 
of a rich present for you — a deed of gift has been pre- 
pared 

Rose. 
[With agonised impatience.^ Why do you speak of that 
now? 

Fred. 
{Continuing calmly.'] An old friend, who asks to be 
nameless, has given you, through our firm, the sum of two 
million florins. The documents are now preparing, you 
will be in possession of your fortune before to-morrow 
night. [Rose has been staring at him.] You are listening 
— you understand, do you not — I want all this clear be- 
fore we part. 

Rose. 
But we are not going to part. 

Fred. 
We are, Rose. 

Rose. 
[Speaking with suffering.] W-why! 

Fred. 
Your mother has told you. 



42 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

Rose. 
She has told me nothing. 

Fred. 
What does the cause matter, since it must be. 

Rose. 
Don't you love me? 

Fred. 
I did love [seeing her tortured expression] — I do love 
you; but something has come between us — that is difficult 
for me to explain. 

Rose. 
I know the fault is not yours, in spite of what mother 
says. 

Fred. 
I appreciate your trust in me — I am trying to be candid 
with you — but your mother has made it hard. I cannot 
play the hero, or the hypocrite. Let her explain it to you — 
when I am gone — if she chooses to explain. It is a duty 
that I owe to myself — that's all. Good bye. 

Rose. 
[Agonised.] Don't go — not yet — I must understand. 
[Trying to be calm.] The business that brought you to- 
day — tell me about that. 

Fred. 
I have told you already. A gift to you of two million 
florins. 

Rose. 
By whom? 



43 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY, 

Fred. 
A stranger. 

Rose. 
Your going has something to do with this gift. What is 
the mystery ; who is the stranger ; what is he to me ? 

Fred. 
All this is for your mother to answer. 

Rose. 
[As the truth gradually glimmers.] Two million florins. 
Why Horinsf Since the visit of that man her manner has 
changed. He was an Italian. Florins ! Fred, has all that 
has happened come through that man? {He doesn't an- 
swer.] Who is he? What is he to me? 

Fred. 
What does it matter? 

Rose. 
Matter ! Since it is to separate us ? What have I done ? 
What have I done that I should be punished like this? 

Fred. 
You have done nothing, Rose, even if, in the eyes of 
the world, you must bear your share of the guilt. 

Rose. 
{Stunned.] Guilt? 

Fred. 
At least that is what the world would call it. We do not 
make the laws of society, we only obey them. 

Rose. 
That Italian — who is he ? Who is he ? 



44 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

Fred. 
Don't ask me, Rose. 

Rose. 
You must tell me! I must know. 

Fred. 

He is your [Checking himself, he walks away from 

her.] 

Rose. 
[Finishing falteringly.] Father! [She sinks overcome 
on the seat in silence, and as Fred turns away, she adds in 
a tone of deep sorrow.] And that is why you are leaving 
me? 

Fred. 
I must. Some day you will understand. 

Rose. 
I shall never understand. I only know that through all 
the pain of future years I shall be asking why you are 
leaving me now. 

Fred. 
Because I cannot make you my wife. [She looks tip in 
mute appeal.] I could not clear the stain from your name 
by marrying you ; I would only besmirch my own. 

Rose. 
The stain upon my name ! Then there is one 

Fred. 
At least — if I were to make you my wife [He hesi- 
tates as she winces under his zvords.] 

Rose. 
Then I am not worthy to be your wife? 



45 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

Fred. 
I didn't say that — not in those words — I only meant 

Rose. 
Nor any man's wife. {She breaks down completely.] 

Fred. 
[Tryin^^ vainly to comfort her.] It is not your fault, 
Rose — it is not your fault. 
[She sobs bitterly.] 
\ENTER Mrs. Hamlin.] 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
[Seeing her daughter's collapse, and going to her.] My 
darling, what has happened? [To Fred fiercely.] You 
have not kept faith with me. 

Fred. 
[Irritated.] Why should I blacken my own character? 
V/hy should T defend you! 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
[Under her breath, pointing to the door.] Go! 

Fred. 
[After a pause of hesitation, leaves abruptly.] 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
[Taking her in her arms.] My poor, poor girl — what 
has he told you ? 

Rose. 
[Finding her voice.] What does it matter? 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
[Under her breath.] The coward ! I never trusted him. 

46 



CHILD RUN OF DliSTINY. 

RosK. 
Don't talk like; thai, iiiotlic'r — lie was all I liad in the 
world. 

Mus. 1 1 AM 1.1 N. 
My darlinf^ — yoii will understand some day — and you 
will learn to for^^ivc luc ! 

Rosr-. 
\As if comiuif out of a trance mnth the echo of her 
mother's last ivords.] T'orjj^ivc you? 

Mrs. I 1am I.I n. 
For the grief that I have caused you — yes, darling, it was 
I, l)ut you must forgive me — you will forgive me. 

RoSK. 
You are my mf^tlicr. I low can I have anything to for- 
give you ? 

Mk.s. Hamlin. 
But you nuist tell me now that you do forgive me. 

Ro.SF,. 

\Tryinj^ calmly to reason it out.] What have T to for- 
give? 

Mks. IIami.in. 
[Embracint^ her passionately.] More, more than you 
know. 

Rosn. 
He left me, thoufjjh no fault of luine. l^o you ask mc 
to forgive you for that? 

Mus. Hamlin. 

Yes — yes I'.ut you don't say it. I am begging you 

to say it. You don't say it! 

47 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

Rose. 
Forgive you for breaking my heart? [She weeps on her 
mother's shoulder, then recovers, shaking her head slowly, 
as if it were impossible.] No — no 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
Don't say that you will not forgive me. Oh, my darling, 
through all my years of suffering you have been the one 
recompense of my life. 

Rose. 
[In a hollow voice.] Something has changed in me — 
some chord has snapped. I am terrified. Where is all the 
love that has been in my heart for you? 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
[Alarmed.] You do not hate me? 

Rose. 
How could I hate you ! I don't understand. What is 
this bitterness that is taking possession of me ? Oh, mother 
— what does it mean? 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
Rose! 

Rose. 
What crime have I committed that I am made to suffer 
like this? 

Mrs. Hamlin. 

But it was no fault of yours He told you it was no 

fault of yours. 

Rose. 
[Bitter to the core.] No fault of mine! Who dares 
make me suffer through no fault of mine? 

48 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
Time will heal all, my darling. 

Rose. 
No. There is no healing. You knew what was going 
to happen when you spoke to me of giving him up. You 
will recall my answer. If anything comes between us I 
shall not care to live. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
But you did not mean it ! 

Rose. 
Yes, I meant it then — and I mean it now. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
Rose — you would not punish me like this — you would 
not condemn me unheard. 

Rose. 
He told me there was a stain upon my name — that I am 
not fit to be any man's wife. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
The coward! 

Rose. 

He was right Then what is the life that such as I 

can live? 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
|/n terror.'] Rose ! Rose ! 

Rose. 
I have often wondered how they came to be lost — these 
helpless lives cast upon the world, selling their beauty in 
the market place. They had lost their love; they had lost 



49 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

their souls; it was no fault of theirs — it was no fault of 
theirs ! 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
But you must not speak like this — I forbid it ! 

Rose. 
Ha ! What am I better than they ! Am I more fit than 
they to be an honest man's wife? Mother! This is the 
end ! This is the end ! 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
Don't, Rose — it is too terrible! [In horror.] 

Rose. 
I will take the money that belongs to me. Mine in pay- 
ment of my share of the gitilt. Mother, do you under- 
stand me? I am going away. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
[Wrung zvith dismay.] What will become of you? 

Rose. 
Who cares? What do they expect of such as I? They 
shall not be disappointed, those of that fine world to which 
he belongs ! They write in a clear hand the doom of those 
whose names are stained — through no fault of theirs ! I 
have done with them, I have done with them all ! There is 
but one task in life before me. To forget — to forget ! 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
[Trying to interrupt.] Not me! Not me! 

Rose, 
[Continuing in a torrent of feeling.] Yes — and to be 
forgotten. 



50 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
No — Rose — my daughter! 

Rose. 
Yes, forgotten. And you will be glad enough to forget 
me when I have gone out of your life, out of your world — 
when I have joined those who have become what I shall 
become When I have found my place among 

Mrs. Hamlin. 
[Falling on her knees in supplicating anguish.] Don't 
say it! Don't say it! 

Rose. 
[With a final outcry of despair.] Among those ! Among 

THOSE ! 

[Dashes out in great emotion, leaving her mother utterly 
overcome, a>s the curtain falls.] 

End of Act I. 



St 



ACT 11. 
LAPSE OF ONE YEAR. 

SCEA^E: A secluded section of a popular restaurant in 
the American colony at Nice, France, cut off by shrubbery 
from the main dining room, zvhich is supposed to be off at 
the back, zAience the sounds of an orchestra playing are 
heard. 

[At a tabic to the right are discovered Walter Hobart 
ajid Edwin Ford. 

[Hobart is scribbling on the cheap paper zifhich profes- 
sional zvriters use, zvhich is piled around him, and he scat- 
ters sheets as fast as he Ulls them.] [Ford, in a bromn 
study, is smoking a cigarette, and sipping absinthe.] 

Hobart. 
[Apologetically, but zi'riti}'.g feverishly.] Just a minute, 
old man. I mustn't let this idea get away from me. Can't 
afford it. 

Ford. 
[I}iditfcrc)itly.] Don't mind me. 

Hobart. 
[After zi'riti)ig furiously for a spell.] There! [GatJiers 
up the sheets and makes a pile of them.] Now I can be 



52 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

human once more — but there's something about this cafe 
that whips my brain into action. When future generations 
shall discuss the personal habits of that great writer, Wal- 
ter Hobart, who flourished — well, we won't say flourished — 
existed — in the twentieth century, it shall be observed that 
his most fantastic conceits were born at a little iron table at 
the Cafe des Americains at Nice, France, usually in the 
early afternoon, after a meal that may be called breakfast, 
or lunch, according to one's geography. But here I am, 
prattling away like an untrammeled child of nature — when, 
after all, the main object of my bringing you here was to 
rouse you out of yourself. 

Ford. 
[Listlessly.] Thank you. [He prepares himself another 
decoction of absinthe.] 

HoBART. 

[Contititiing lightly.] But you decline to be roused — ex- 
cept so far as continual libations of that vile green fluid can 
rouse you — and that is depressing. Brace up, old man, and 
be gay. If you can't be gay, be as gay as you can. 

Ford. 
If I could scribble like you, perhaps I could scribble my- 
self into a condition of gaiety like yours. It must be a 
great relief to you to be able to shed your gloom on sheets 
of paper like that. You always seem so much brighter 
for it. 

Hobart. 
Your diagnosis is wrong. The gaiety you notice is only 
the relief in having got the stuff out of my system. 



53 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

Ford. 
But to be able to express one's pent-up feelings in writ- 
ing! It is a great privilege. 

HOBART. 

That's the amateur idea of it. You don't suppose I 
write because I have pent-up feelings to express. Tut, tut 
— likewise, go to ! I write because I get paid by the word 
— and the largest portion of my income is derived from 
dodging every possible feeling with a sort of glib fecundity. 

Ford. 
Don't tell me you don't feel what you write. I have 
read your writings. 

HoBART. 

If I have cheated you into that belief, all the better. 
That's what I am paid for. But imagine the large assort- 
ment of feelings I should have to have on tap to exude all 
the different things I put on paper. Here I am — a hireling, 
at the beck and call of an itinerant yachtsman — whose one 
redeeming quality is his appreciation of my versatility. To- 
day, I am employed to do the Riviera for his paper, in my 
finest Rabelaisian style — next week, I may be his Sunday 
Editor in New York. Ha ! In this age of near-silk-^near- 
rubber — and, near-eggs — I am a near-genius! 

Ford. 
[With a light laugh, takes another drink.] 

HoBART. 

I am glad to have wrested a smile from you. That's en- 
couraging. Though I don't approve of these frequent visits 
to the absinthe bottle. [With a serious change of manner.] 



54 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

Now look here, Ford, you're an unhappy man. I have 
known you fairly intimately for a short time. I know 
there is some sorrow tucked away in your inner conscious- 
ness, and in due course of time you will reveal it to me. 
I am not pressing you to seek that relief until you are 
ready, but to try to drown it in drink is a damned bad 
way. 

Ford. 
Pshaw ! Don't shift the conversation from you to me — 
you won't be half so amusing. 

HOBART. 

Oh, I am not always amusing. I have a side that borders 
on the lugubrious. Didn't you read my "Under Life at 
Monte Carlo"? That was warranted to give the doldrums 
to Sunny Jim. 

Ford. 

Yes, I did read it — and I didn't agree with all your con- 
clusions, either. Vice is not all black — your gaming table is 
Monte Carlo may solace many an aching heart, and your 
dazzling beauties — your light-o'-loves, dwelling in seductive 
villas, may be balm to bruised spirits. I hate these fixed 
lines of demarcation between vice and virtue. What is 
virtue? Where do we find it? 

HoBART. 

I'll suggest that as one of the prize questions for a 
Sunday issue. 

Ford. 

And how shall we know when we have found it? Come, 
my brilliant magazinist — define it to me — in a word, if you 
can What is virtue? 



55 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

HOBART. 

[After a sligJit pause] Inexperience! 

Ford. 
Fine ! And the logical deduction is, that as experience 
comes, virtue departs ! 

HoBART. 

Yes — that's a ki)id of logic — but whether the result of 
keen perception, or too much absinthe, I can't determine. 

Ford. 
And even this much-abused friend of mine [indicating 
tJic absinthe] suffers from a ruined reputation. Heaven 
knows he has done more to alleviate sorrow than many a 
paid nurse. 

HoBART. 

You are morbid to-day. Something tells me you're on 
the point of a confession. Well, out with it — who was 
she? 

Ford. 

You conclude then, there was a she. 

HoBART. 

That question seems almost childish. 

Ford. 
Yes. there icas a she. And if I have wiped out these 
imaginary lines between vice and virtue, it is because of her. 

Hobart. 
You are pitching your remarks in such a high key of 
rhetoric that I am not sure I get you. You were in love 
once. You were jilted? 

56 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

Ford. 
Jilted ! Ha ! 

I loHART, 

Well, others have been. And they have become better 
citizens for it. They didn't make it their excuse for deify- 
ing drink. 

T-'oRD. 

But it destroyed my belief in virtue. That is the bitter 
part of it. And when you say jilted — you are merely 
j^rojiinq. No. I was not jilted, I was betrayed. I was 
humiliated. It turned my holiest thoughts of love to 
shame. Do you begin to understand? 

IIOBART. 

Go on. 

Ford. 

But why should T toll you this? You arc a professional 
writer. What does a man's heartache mean to you, except 
more copy. 

HonART. 

[JVith siuccrity, as he tahrs Ford's hand.] Now, under- 
stand me, Ford, I am not coercing you into a confession. 
If you make one, I shall value and respect it. It may make 
you happier. I have grown fond of you since we became 
friends in Paris, and 1 have tried to prove a good com- 
panion to you, though I have not bragged about it. I shall 
always try to ring true. That's all I have to say about it. 
So speak, or remain silent, as you will. 

Ford. 
[With something like enthicsiasm.] Do you know, Wal- 

57 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

ter, one grip of the hand from a friend like you, is worth 
all the blandishments of all the women in the world. 

HOBART. 

I won't say that — but we won't dispute about it. 

Ford. 
A year ago I was engaged to be married to one of the 
prettiest girls in New York, She was a good girl, a well- 
bred girl, a highly educated girl — you know the type. Rich, 
pampered, and all that sort of thing. If there ever was a 
girl who had no excuse for going wrong, it was she. One 
of those open-eyed, child-women that enchain a man's very 
soul with their apparent innocence. I loved her. The wed- 
ding day was fixed. I called at her home one day, and 
found a note. I have never seen her since. That inno- 
cence was all a sham ! She had given herself, for no ap- 
parent reason, into the arms of some libertine, who appealed 
to her, as I evidently did not, in some mysterious sex way, 
that the world has never been quite able to define. But she 
was innocent ! She was virtuous ! Do you wonder now, 
why I resent these fixed catalogues of vice and virtue ! In 
her note she had the grace to admit that it was through no 
fault of mine that she threw me over. As if that miti- 
gated the suffering, the shame, the disgrace. I have sought 
to forget her in travel and dissipation. But that is the 
mockery of it ! Drink doesn't do it ! The promiscuous pur- 
suit of other women doesn't do it — though, I still persevere 
at both. And when I read your learned essays that are 
guide posts to vice and virtue, I laugh at you, for vice and 
virtue are interchangeable terms, and have only such mean- 
ing as we choose to give them. [Slight pause.] 

58 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

HOBART. 

There is nothing strange in your story. There is noth- 
ing new — except your conclusions. Your's happens to be 
the man's side of it, I dare say, somewhere in the world, 
there is the exact counterpart of it on the woman's side. 
We are all Children of Destiny, Do you think that woman 
would be justified in maintaining that honor among all 
men was only a name, because of her one unhappy ex- 
perience ? 

Ford. 

I shouldn't blame her. 

HoBART. 

This goes deeper than blame. It evokes a sorrow that 
makes kinship, I am older than you, Edwin, and I have 
graduated from the college you have just entered, I have 
gone through all the classes that have intervened since my 
first lesson in heartache. You have taken up the primary 
studies of absinthe and loose women. You will ripen into 
a proper sense of proportion some day, and then you won't 
mistake the gaming table for a nerve tonic, nor a secluded 
villa for a sanitarium, [In a lighter tone.] Let me read 
you a paragraph I have just written in my special article. 
[Finding his place.] It deals directly with the Gilded Wom- 
en of the Riviera, [Reads.] "And here, holding high 
court, with a train of her own, that includes crowned 
heads, and others not so crowned, we find one more beau- 
tiful and more radiant than her any of her frail sisters." 
[Speaks.] I single this one out to you as permitting of 
no argument as to where virtue leaves ofiF, and vice be- 
gins. [Reads.] "She has but recently invaded the charmed 
circle of Monte Carlo. Her villa is one of the most de- 



59 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

lightfully situated on the dreamy slope, lapped by the beau- 
tiful blue sea. She is reputedly an American, though some 
of us detect a slightly foreign accent, which, however, may 
be assumed, for it adds to her witchery, and a certain 
vague mystery that surrounds her. From whatever source 
it comes, she seems well supplied with money, which she 
spends lavishly. There is even a mystery as to her present 
favorite — she has not identified herself with any particular 
one, she is cultivating a sort of salon for her worshippers — 
and with it all she carries, paradoxically enough — a certain 
air that seems to say : 'I am what I am — and if you ask me 
to feel ashamed, I refuse.' She calls herself Rosamond — 
possibly in honor of Swinburne. She certainly suggests the 
amorous metres of the late poet." [As he lays down his 
script, he looks up.] 

Ford. 
[Quietly.] I have met her. 

HoBART. 

So have I. How do I describe her? 

Ford. 
Very well, except that you take her vocation for granted. 

HoBART. 

[With a laugh.] Don't you? 

Ford. 
I don't want to place myself in the position of defend- 
ing these frail sisters as you call them— but I have ceased 
placing them in a class by themselves. 

Hobart. 
What do you gain by that? 

60 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

Ford. 
A gpraater poet than you has said : "Frailty, thy name is 
woman." He meant ''women," of course. 

HOBART. 

If he did, he was a bad grammarian. 

Ford. 

And when that same poet moaned, "Oh, that we can call 
these dehcate creatures ours, and not their appetites," he 
wasn't thinking only of professional frailty — if I may coin 
the phrase. 

Hobart. 

The long and short of it. Ford, is that you are so em- 
bittered against one woman, that it has made you morbid 
and unreal. I refuse to believe that your true self does not 
make just the same distinctions that I do. 

Ford. 
I can only pray that the years may restore the faith I 
lost. 

Hobart. 
And until then, let me give you a bit of calm, cold- 
blooded advice. [After a slight pause.] Keep clear of this 
mysterious Rosamond. 

Ford. 
Why do you single her out? 

Hobart. 
Shall I tell you honestly? Because I have seen you with 
her. [Ford indicates surprise.] I have seen her weaving 
her toils about you. I know the danger. 

6i 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

Ford. 
Danger ! Ha ! 

HOBART. 

Don't laugh. She is more gifted in her craft than any 
woman I ever knew. She has power to incite, that is per- 
fect art. She knows when to yield, and when to deny. She 
knows the market value of coldness and indifference, and 
she trades on these qualities. She can be select almost to 
the point of prudery, and she can hold you — hold you till 
the end of time ! And her price is high. 

Ford. 
What do you know of that? 

HoBART. 

There is a meaning to that word beyond money ; though 
even in that regard she might bankrupt you. Yes — even 
yoti — with your ample fortune. 

Ford. 
I don't think you need worry on that score. 

HoBART. 

And there is a greater price — the enslaving of your man- 
hood — the surrender of your self-respect 

Ford. 
Why, you are speaking with real feeling, or am I de- 
ceiving myself again? Is that only another trick of your 
trade ? 

Hoeart. 
I use my tricks only when I write. I could tell a story 
of my own if I chose — but it would begin and end differ- 
ently from yours. It would start with the degradation, 

62 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

from which I have emerged, and close with the promise of 
a new and cleaner life — with the girl I am going to marry. 

Ford. 
You are going to marry ? This is news to me. 

liOBART. 

I met her this summer, doing the Continent with her 
mother. She is a Washington girl. She has got as far as 
Nice, on her way to Monte Carlo, where I am to help her 
open her eyes, her beautiful young eyes. She is due here 
in a little while ; when she comes, I will present you. 

Ford. 
Let me wish you joy — [Sighs] — if there is such a thing. 

HOBART. 

[Going to the door of the "salle."] I will cast an eye 
about the main hall. She may have arrived. [Returning 
with some agitation.'] Ford, that woman has just entered 
the dining room with that simpering old roue in her train. 

Ford. 
[With a laugh.] Julius Langhorn! She doesn't care a 
button for him ! 

HoBART. 

Oh, you know that, do you ? She has told you ? 

Ford. 
I knew she was coming here, and with him. 

HoBART. 

This American colony of ours is responsible for some 
weird conceits ! Julins Langhorn ! A sprightly young lamb- 
kin, about ninety in the shade, I should think. 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

Ford. 
But he adores youth and beauty. That keeps him young. 

HOBART. 

And childish. How can she bother with that old fool? 

Ford. 
Oh, she will get rid of him soon enough! 

HoBART. 

Oh — you know that, do you ? 

Ford. 
Oh, yes. 

Hob ART. 
Perhaps she expects to find you here? 

Ford. 
Perhaps. 

Hobart. 
[Hcaz'es a sigh, and makes a gesture of despair.] 
[ENTER Mrs. Winfield-Chase, follozved by Laura. 
Laura Jia)igs back and looks off.] 

]\Irs. Winfield-Chase. 
Oh, here you are ! Laura said you would be in the most 
secluded spot. 

HoBART. 

Yes, you see we are cut off here by the shrubbery — and 
we escape the noise and glitter. Here is where we invite 
our soul. Will you permit me ? ]\Irs. Winfield-Chase — Mr. 
Edwin Ford. 

]\Irs. Winfield-Chase. 

[Extending her hand.] I am happy to meet you. [Call- 

64 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

ing to her daughter.] Laura! What ails you, my dear! 
You haven't greeted Walter. [Laura does so, abstracted- 
ly.'] And this is Walter's friend, Mr. Ford. 

Laura. 
How do you do? [Boxvs.] 

Hobart. 
What is the matter? You seem abstracted! 

Laura. 
I saw a face just now that haunts me. 

Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 

She is forever seeing faces that haunt her. We couldn't 
go anywhere on the Continent without everybody, from 
the concierge of the hotel, to the soldier in the sentry box 
reminding her of some one else. She even took the Em- 
peror Francis Joseph for Doctor Cook ! 

[Ford drifts oif the scene.] 

Hobart. 
What face is it this time? 

Laura. 
Who is that woman — dressed so strikingly, with a cer- 
tain Italian air? 

Mrs. Winfield-Ciiase. 
Now, Laura — what do you care to know about that class 
of woman for? 

Laura. 
What do you know of her class, mother? 

Mrs. Winfield-Ciiase. 
Don't snap me up, Laura — it is a pretty safe conclusion 

65 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

that any of these over-gowned women circulating about 
places like this with eccentric escorts, belong to a class. 

Laura. 
Her eccentric escort happens to be your particular friend, 
Mr. Langhorn. 

Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
[Annoyed.] The idea ! [Appealing to Hobart.] Now, 
you have experience, and even more than ordinary sense. 
[He boTPs.] What am I to do with a man with so little dis- 
crimination, that he can follow in my train one moment, 
and the next be dangling after — well — after such as that? 

Hobart. 
[Amused.'] That's cosmopolitan laxity. 

Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
Cosmopolitan impudence, I call it! And we are to be 
his guests here for lunch. I shall talk plainly with Mr. 
Langhorn. I make all allowance for his over-done genial- 
ity. He must beam. He can't help himself. But I can't 
have him beaming all over the place when I am around ; it 
hurts my pride, and it rather impairs my social standing. 

Hobart. 

[With a laugh.] You are quite right. 

Laura. 
[To Hobart.] 

But all this time, you are leaving my question unan- 
swered? Who is that woman? 

Hobart. 
[Seriously to her.] Why do you wish to know? 

66 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

Laura. 
I know her ! [Rising and facing her mother.] I tell you, 
mother, it is Rose Hamlin ! 

Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
[Quite agitated.] Why, Laura, this is preposterous. [Ex- 
plaining hurriedly to Hobart.] The daughter of one of my 
dearest friends! [To Laura.] I don't see how you dare 
imagine such a thing. That simple, innocent girl — and this 
notorious woman ! 

Laura. 
Who knows by what road she came from then to nozi;f 

Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
You are carrying your vagaries too far. 

Laura. 
Why has she not written me in all these months ? 

AIrs. Winfield-Chase. 
You know she left Washington and went to Arizona 
with her mother to join her father. 

Laura. 
That's what her mother wrote you. 

Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
Yes. 

Laura. 
And what about her marriage that was to have taken 
place within the year? We haven't even received our in- 
vitation. 



67 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
Even so, must you jump at the most unreasonable and 
illogical conclusion? 

Laura. 
You cannot argue down that face, mother. [Turning to 
HoBART.] Walter, zvJio is she? 

HOBART. 

I know nothing of her antecedents, and who she is mat- 
ters less now than zi'hat she is. And for that reason, my 
dear, we will leave her out of our conversation. [They 
continue in an undertone.^ 

Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 

[Seeing the entering Langhorn, in a high note of agi- 
tation.] Ah, there you are ! 

[ENTER Langhorn,] 

[He is a very young, very old man, with zvhite curly hmr, 
a -florid face, and twinkling feet. He chirps his remarks, 
aits in his movements, and h-as an infectious chuckle.] 

Langhorn. 
My dear, dear, dear Mrs. Winfield-Chase. Here you are 
— here you are — here you are ! 

Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
And don't you think it's about time for you to report? 

Langhorn. 
High time, indeed — that's why I'm reporting. This is 
the table I've secured. Secluded — eh? Far from the mad- 
ding crowd. What? [Goes to it.] 

68 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 



Far from any 



Mrs. Winfield-Chase, 
waiter, I should say. 



Langhorn. 
I've attended to that. Lunch is ordered. Hardly a 
lunch. Just a bite. You know — one of my tasty bites. 
Trust your Julius for that ! 

Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 

My Julius, indeed ! I'll have a word or two to say on 

that subject in a moment. In the meanwhile [Calling 

over to Hobart.] Mr. Hobart, I want to present Mr. 

Langhorn He doesn't deserve it — but I can't very well 

help myself. 

Langhorn. 

[Twinkles over to him and grasps him by the hand.] 
Delighted to meet you, Mr. Hobart. Very, very, very! 
Heard of you ever so many times — ever so many nice 
things. It pleases her ladyship [with a comic guilty look 
at Mrs. Winfield-Chase.] to be bitter in her present 
mood toward me — but I'm an old and devoted slave and 
admirer, and as such, am entitled to some little recogni- 
tion. Eh? [Tzmtklcs over to her.] Say something pleas- 
ant! [Twinkles back to Hobart.] I have ordered for 
four — four — let me see, that's right, isn't it? [Counting 
noses.] Though, if appreciation could be expressed in fig- 
ures, I should have made it fourteen. [Indicating.] One, 
two, three, us — and Mrs. Winfield-Chase the other eleven. 
Ha! Ha! Ha! 

Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
I wish, Mr. Langhorn, you wouldn't flutter so much, 
you make me nervous. 

69 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

Langhorn. 
Must flutter — can't help it. I was born fluttering! Ah, 
there you are! [This to a waiter, zuho enters zvith lunch- 
eon, which is laid on table.] Shall we be seated? [Indi- 
cates the places of the four.] 

Laura. 



HOBART. 



Langhorn. 



Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 

[The ivaiter serves the luncheon, making the necessary 
exits and entrances. At the conclusion Langhorn signs hill 
for the meal. In the meanzvhile Laura and Hobart be- 
come absorbed in each other as if continuing silently a 
previous argument, during zvhich the other pair enjoy their 
luncheon, zvhich they diversify with the following conver- 
sation, to distant strains of lively music] 

Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
Now, let me hear your explanation — and, I hope, your 
apology. 

Langhorn. 
Apology? Oh, you mean — what do you mean? 

Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
Is it necessary, in order that you may keep up your high- 
ly strung cosmopolitan air, that you should widen the cir- 



70 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

cle of your acquaintance, until it gets beyond the border 
line of respectability? 

Langhorn. 
Oh, I see ! You mean — what do you mean ? 

Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
[Hopelessly.] You certainly have the gift of seeming 
artless. 

Langhorn. 
Seeming ! I am artless ! I am a child ! I do no wrong, 
because I see no wrong! 

Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
Then what do I want you to apologize for? 

Langhorn. 

That's what I should like to know. 

Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
[Severely.] For showing so little tact, not to use a 
harsher word — as to make me share your attentions with 
questionable characters. 

Langhorn. 
Questionable characters ? 

Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
You were spending your time with one of them, just im- 
mediately before joining me. 

Langhorn. 
I don't know what you call spending your time. I am 
on nodding terms with all classes and conditions of men, 
not to say women. They say a cat may look at a king — 
and I suppose the reverse is equally true. 



71 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
As you are neither king nor cat, I don't respond to your 
argument. 

Langhorn. 
Always epigrammatic ! I have always maintained it— 
you have a saliency that borders on the sublime ! You are 
in brief — by Jove, you are — ^you know you are! 

Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
I am very sorry you were compelled to give up your at- 
tractive tete-a-tete from a sense of duty to us. 

Langhorn. 
Don't shrivel my sensitive nature with needless re- 
proaches. Everybody makes allowances for Julius. He 
can flit from flower to flower, and leave no more harm in 
his wake than so much traveling sunshine. Don't frown 
on me, Miriam — the time has come when I must call you 
Miriam — I can stand anything but your frown. The world 
grows gray when Miriam frowns, and I lose my youth. 
And what would I be without my youth ! I zvas seen in 
company with — well, with that baffling beauty — but only 
for a moment. She seemed lonesome. She seemed looking 
for somebody she didn't find. And I went up to her 
and said : "You are not looking for me, are you ?" 

Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
The impertinence ! 

Langhorn. 
You see, I had met her before. Not met her exactly. 
Just been introduced — no, not exactly that, either. Any- 
how, I knew who she was, and she knew that I knew, and 



72 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

when I said: "You are not looking for me?" she smiled, 
and answered : "I didn't know that I was." Now that 
struck me as rather clever. She didn't knoiif that she was. 
Maybe she was, and didn't know it. Ha ! Ha ! And I was 
prepared to argue it out with her, when the other one ar- 
rives. 

Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 

Which other one ? 

Langhorn. 

The young man she evidently was looking for. {By 
this time the others have become interested.^ For she 
joined him, and they strolled off — and I — [sheepishly'\ — 
came here. 

Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 

It was very good of you. 

Hobart. 
What was the other young man like? 

Langhorn. 
Other young, is good! Ha! Ha! Friend of yours? At 
least, I suppose he was, for the first thing she said to him 
was, "How did you leave our friend Hobart?" 

Laura. 

Then she knows you? 

Hobart. 

Yes — and no [Stops short and changes the stthject.] 

If we are to catch that five o'clock train, we had better be 
starting. 

Langhorn. 
Don't you want me to motor you over? 



73 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
Laura and Mr. Hobart have arranged to go by train. 

Langhorn. 
But that needn't prevent our 



Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
[With fine irony. ^ I don't think I care to jeopardize my 
reputation by being seen alone with you all that way. 

Langhorn. 
Now, my dear — don't be cruel. Bear and forbear. Think 
of the Julius that is all yours — the Julius as you want him 
to be — for he is many kinds of a Julius, and when you've 
settled on just what kind of a Julius you want, set your 
alarm clock, and he'll ring just when, where, and how you 
want him. 

Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
What do you think, Laura? 

Langhorn. 
[Twinkles over to her.] Say the right thing, Laura! 
[Tzvinkles back to Mus. Winfield-Chase.] She says, "Of 
course!" Don't you, Laura? 

Laura. 
[With a smile.] I think he's too young, mother, to be 
left alone. 

Langhorn. 
Capital ! I'm the youngest thing you ever heard of — 
and getting younger all the time. 

[Takes Mrs. Winfield-Chase's arm, and leaves zvith 
her.] 



74 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

HOBART. 

And now, shall we follow them? 

Laura. 

It's a wonderful feeling, going to Monte Carlo for the 
first time. And to think that we are ending it there ! It's 
like playing with lire — isn't it? Well {^vith a sigh of satis- 
faction], it's a comfort to know that I shall be sheltered. 
[Nestles closely to him.] 

[Rose Hamlin's laugh is heard off.] 

Laura. 
[Releasing herself from Hobart — zvith agitation.] I 
know that laugh. 

Hobart. 
[With concern.] She is coming here — that Rosamond 
woman. If we go out at this side door we shall avoid her. 

Laura. 
[With quick determination.] I don't want to avoid her. 

Hobart. 
What do you want to do? 

Laura. 
Speak with her. 

Hobart. 
What for? 

Laura. 
Identify her. I know I can't be mistaken. 

Hobart. 
Even if you are not — what then? 



75 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

Laura. 
Don't ask me that. There's something in my heart that's 
calling me to her. 

HOBART. 

{Severely.'] I don't wish you to stay. I don't wish you 
to speak to her. 

Laura. 
Don't say that, Walter. 

HoBART. 

[As before.'] Understand me. Laura, I know you will 
not set my wishes at naught. Whoever this woman may 
prove to be, you and she can have nothing in common. 
Promise me that. 

Laura. 

[Waves her hand impatiently, too much absorbed in the 
approach of Rose.] 

[Hobart stands by the door waiting, as Rose Hamlin, 
with the mitward semblance of an embla<soned demi-mrOti- 
dair.e, a complete contrast to the girl of the first act, laugh- 
ingly sweeps into the room from the other side. Ford 
stands in the doorway, through which she has just entered.] 

[Laura goes up to her, extending her hand.] 

Laura. 
Rose! 

Rose. 
[Stops consciously for a brief moment, then turns away, 
trying to assume a light indifference, with Ford, zvho comes 
down to h^r. She has shown in that one brief moment 
zvith Laura ail that she knozvs of self-control in avoiding 
a revelation.] 

76 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

Laura. 

[Falterini^ly.} You do not know me? 

[HoBART goes dozvn shcltcringly, and takes her up.} 

HOBART. 

Thank Heaven, for that. [Laura buries her head on his 
shoulder. He goes out with hcr.^ 

[The music is heard off, at internals, playing the inci- 
dental melody: "Silent Stars of Night."] 

Ford. 
That was strange, wasn't it? 

Rose. 
[Assuming lightness.] Strange? Not at all! 

Ford. 
She thought she knew you. 

Rose. 
That happens to me all the time. There must be some- 
thing very ordinary about me. I am constantly reminding 
people of their absent friends. [Waiter brings on two 
glasses and a bottle of champagne in cooler, which he 
places on table.] 

Ford. 
[Going for the wine.] Well, let's drink to the absent 
friends. 

Rose. 
You have evidently exhausted your invention in finding 
motives for drinking. 

Ford. 
Tl:at is life. We are always finding motives for things 



// 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

and people that require no motives at all. [Handing her a 
gla>ss.] Is there a more bootless pursuit in life, than try- 
ing- to tind motives for people? The days and nights I 
have Avasted on it ! 

Rose. 
Beginning- with the motive of life, itself. [She sighs.] 

Ford. 

Thank God, I've gotten beyond that point. Life has no 
motive. [Looking closely at her.] There's a tear drop 
clinging to the fringe of your eyelash. There's no motive 
for that. And I know it. I'm going to brush it oil*. [Z>Ot-,? 
so.] That girl's fancied recognition of yon has awakened 
memories — these memories have caused a tear. One more 
motiveless than the other, ^^'e know she had no motive. 
for she was a stranger to you — and I'll be hanged if I let 
yon imagine one : for I don't like tears. And there's only 
one way to extract happiness out of this wretched life of 
ours — dismiss what you don't like — banish it — forget it. 
{All this has been spoken icith a sort of introspeetizv bit- 
terness.] 

Rose. 

If you can. 

Ford. 
^^'hy not? I've learned the trick! It has cost me some- 
thing- to learn it. But I have learned it ! 

Rose. 
That's where we deceive ourselves — that's where we be- 
come addicted to those new beliefs, which, whether they 
be disgiiisd as medicine or religion, are only another fomi 
of narcotic. They still the pain — they cannot cure it. And 



CIIILDRliN OP DESTINY. 

memory — the p^rcatost pain of all, can only sleep — it can 
never die. 

]M)I<I). 

Well, who cares whether it sleeps or dies, so \on^ as it 
doesn't wake tip? 

Rose. 
[In a lighter tour.] At any rate, we did not come here 
to exchange morbid fancies, did we ? 

Ford. 
No — I'll be hanged, if we did. Thongh, if you were to 
ask me what we did come for, 1 couldn't tell you. 

Rose. 
That is not very flattering — especially as it was your 
suggestion tiiat we should find this place the most secluded. 

FoKl). 

Quite right. So it is. And if there is one thing a 
checkered life has taught me, it is the blessing of seclusion. 
[Drijtks.] Especially seclusion for two. [Fills her glass 
and offers it to her. She decline's.] No? I'm sorry. I 
wanted you to meet me on equal grounds. 

Rose. 
I don't like to see you drinking so much. It may sound 
too frank, but I should like you better if you didn't. 

luiRD. 
Perhaps you wouldn't like me at all, how do you know? 
I'm an unbearable prig when I'm too sober. And, besides, 
if I were too sober, would I now be enjoying the honor of 
your charming society? 



79 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

Rose. 
[Rising and moving away.] I don't think I understand. 

Ford. 
[Feeling the wine.] Pardon me. I didn't mean that. 
There's one thing I want you to take for granted in my 
society. I mean to be a gentleman. My methods may, at 
times, appear obscure; but I shall always mean to be a 
gentleman. 

Rose. 
[With a touch of bitterness.] And, after all, what are 
mere manners? 

Ford. 
Yes. [Then grasping her meaning.] What do you 
mean? 

Rose. 
Underneath any possible show of gallantry on your part, 
I should read the truth. I should always know. 

Ford. 
What? 

Rose. 
That you had first met me in that informal way. 

Ford. 
It was a very delightful way. 

Rose. 
That may be true — but it carries its punishment. I won- 
der if we should like each other as well, if we had been 
properly introduced? 

Ford. 
I can only speak for myself. I shouldn't like you half 
so well. 



80 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

Rose. 
I can't understand that. 

Ford. 
Oh, you could, if you knew the kind of a derelict I am. I 
have long since stopped being properly introduced. I am 
just a drifting hulk, for the casual wayfarer to make the 
best or the worst of. 

Rose. 
I can't make you out. You choose your words too well 
to be sincere. I have found that those who feel deepest 
sometimes fumble. 

Ford. 
Well. [Bluntly.] I don't feel deeply. I don't want to 
— and I hope I may never fumble. 

Rose. 
Do you remember how we first met? 

Ford. 
I think so. It was at the Casino concert. 

Rose. 
The concert was over. You lingered in your seat. They 
were putting out the lights. They had just played Beethov- 
en. There was something in the music that enthralled you. 

Ford. 
[With mofitenta/ry rapture.] It was Beethoven, that was 
all! 

Rose. 
I, too, was enthralled. I saw you when you came in, and 
I watched you. I didn't know what it was that attracted 
me to you — I don't know now. I watched you, too, as you 

8i 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

sat alone — and I heard you mutter to yourself, disquieted, 
as in a troubled dream. Then I leaned over to you and 
spoke to you. You did not seem surprised. 

Ford. 
[In a matter-of-fact tone.] No. 

Rose. 
And why were you not surprised? 

Ford. 
[With a slight, unpleasant laugh.] Ha! I presumed I 
wasn't the first man you had spoken to. 

Rose. 
[Flushing.] But you were — in just that way — you were. 

Ford. 
And why did you? 

Rose. 
Because I felt at that moment that there was a sadness 
in your life that claimed kinship with mine. And you did 
not seem displeased to have me speak. 

Ford. 
Not at all displeased. I had seen you come in, too. And 
I liked your air. I liked the way you took possession. And 
I had made up my mind to become acquainted with you. 

Rose. 
How did you expect to manage it? 

Ford. 
Would it have been so difficult? 



82 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

Rose. 
Very. I, too, have long ceased adding to my acquaint- 
ances. 

Ford. 
Then if you hadn't chosen 

Rose. 
If I hadn't chosen to speak to you as I did, in the strange 
impulse of the moment — we might never have met. 

Ford. 
That is hard to believe. Aren't you a woman of the 
world? Don't we know a number of people in common? 

Rose. 

That may be. I am a woman of the — [hesitatcs'\ — 
world ; if you choose to put it that way — known to perhaps 
too many — but there is one right I have never waived — a 
right which I guard more sacredly as the days go by. The 
right to deny myself. You may not value it too highly — 
this privilege of being one of my friends, but it may give 
me an added value in your eyes to know that you are one 
of the few. 

Ford. 

Oh, don't think I undervalue the fact. If I don't ex- 
press my satisfaction too glibly, remember that I have the 
right to choose my own time to fumble. But I know your 
reputation ! Hobart has taken pains enough to educate me 
on that score ! 

Rose. 

[With a touch of anger.] Hobart! 

Ford. 
Yes — my friend — one of my few friends. 

83 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

Rose. 
[As before.] And what does Hobart know of me? 

Ford. 
What does Hobart know of anybody — not much — only 
everything! Hobart stands for the greatest newspaper in 
the world, that recognizes only one crime — and that is, 
"not to know." 

Rose. 
And he has been enlightening you about me? 

Ford. 
[With extravagant grandeur of expression.] Illumi- 
nating ! 

Rose. 
He has belittled my reputation? 

Ford. 
[As before.] Belittled it! Exalted it! He has painted 
you in such colors that crowned heads should now be en- 
vying me the privilege of this tete-a-tete. 

Rose. 
[Darting up in pride.] You mean this for mockery — but 
they should, indeed ! They should ! 

Ford. 
[Continuing.] Why, you have turned a cold shoulder — 

a beautiful cold shoulder upon even the king of But 

why betray the old dotard ? He has done sillier things than 
lose his heart to the beautiful Rosamond. 

Rose. 
[As before.] There are others on the list of dotards, 

84 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

more radiant than that old fool ; you can tell that to your 
friend. 

Ford. 
Well, in that case, how can I — I — I — you see, I am 
fumbling at last. 

Rose. 
I have chosen you, because — I have acquired a reputa- 
tion for being select. 

Ford. 
[A little harshly.] Now it is you who are mocking. 
But, by Heaven, I doff my hat to no man when it comes 
to being worthy of a woman's favor ! You owe it to me — 
you and all your beautiful sisters — to help wipe out the 
misery one of you has caused. 

Rose. 
[With sudden interest.] What misery is that? 

Ford. 
[Bitterly.] Do you think I shall live it over again to 
please your idle fancy? Ah, no! That would be too high 
a price to pay even you ! 

Rose. 
[With pained resentment.] It's the wine that is 
speaking ! 

Ford. 
What if it is the wine? Let's be thankful for it! It is 
unmasking our souls — it is helping us to reach each other 
aright. Well [zvith an assumed swagger], beautiful Rosa- 
mond, you have conquered me ! Crowned heads can go 
hang, and so can Hobart, with his fine phrases of sur- 

85 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

rendered manhood! I love you, beautiful Rosamond, just 
as ardently and deeply as any man can lie about ! And, by 
Heaven, I will pay your price ! 

Rose. 
[Tries to speak. Her voice fails her. She bursts into 
tears, and sinks sobbing upon the seat.] 

Ford. 

[Suddenly realising his position, makes a desperate ef- 
fort to pull himself together.] My God ! What a miser- 
able coward I am! [Goes to her.] Don't cry! I am not 
worth your tears! I ask your pardon. [He kneels to her 
— she iveeps silently.] I don't know how to deal with 
women, they are all so different. You see, my fatal fluency 
plunged me into such a torrent of words, I didn't know 
what I was saying. I can't blame Hobart for everything 
— but I can blame him for a good deal. But I am a fool — 
a miserable, wretched fool. [All this has been said with 
honest simplicity, and he breaks down utterly at the close.] 

Rose. 

[Recovering, lays her hand upon his head.] You are 
only a boy. A wayward, unhappy boy. You didn't know 
— you didn't know ! 

Ford. 

No. I couldn't have known. [He has risen.] 

Rose. 
It is your youth, and the ignorance of youth that has 
fascinated me. For, with all the worldly wisdom that you 
assume, your heart is as guileless as a child's. What right 
have I, with my bitter knowledge, to expect you to under- 
stand ? 



86 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

Ford. 
What bitter knowledge can you have that I have not ? 

Rose. 
I am a woman — and to a woman, knowledge is bitterness 
in itself — to a man it is only progress. I am going to leave 
you. But I want to make a confession to you before I go. 
Will you hear it? 

Ford. 
Why should you go? You have forgiven me? 

Rose. 
Yes, but will you hear my confession? 

Ford. 
Yes. [Slight pause.] 

Rose. 
I meant it all, when I said I had chosen you out of many, 
and I had come to-day to tell you so. 

Ford. 

Rosamond ! 

Rose. 

I know your friend Hobart has told you the kind of 
woman I am — Rosamond, with her villa by the sea, and 
her splendid sins. He may be right or he may be wrong. 
What does he know, save from common report? But the 
same right I hold to deny has given me the right to be- 
stow. I am a free agent. No living soul has any claim on 
me. You speak of my reputation. What do I care for 
that? I forfeited that long ago, and I did it with my eyes 
open — because I dared to do it. And because I defied 
those who valued it so highly that they demanded my 

87 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

degradation. Let them answer if they have been satisfied. 
Beyond this, my life does not concern you. But there is 
that in yours that has made its silent appeal — an unspoken 
charm of sorrow that has drawn you to me. Yes — even now 
it is whispering insidiously into my ear "surrender." I 
should have fought against this with heart and brain a 
year ago, but now — what have I to lose? 

"To say of shame — what is it? 
Of virtue, we can miss it, 
Of sin — we can but kiss it, 
And it's no longer sin." 

[As he embraces her, she frees herself .1 And so — good 
bye ! [Extends her lutnd.] 

Ford. 
[Taken aback.] Surely you are not going to say good 
bye? — 

Rose. 
Yes. 

Ford. 
Not until you tell me when and where we shall meet 
again. 

Rose. 
Why should we meet? 

Ford. 
Have all your words meant nothing? Have you been 
kindling a fire in my soul, only to laugh at it? 

Rose. 
Have I kindled a fire there? What is this fire?. 



88 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

Ford. 
What matters the name I give it? If it be not love, it is 
a strange, mad longing, that calls out to you — I want you, 
Rosamond. 

Rose. 
As a plaything! As others have wanted me! 

Ford. 
Can we afford to laugh at the passion the gods have 
planted in our breasts ? You have bewitched me — you have 
bewildered me. I have had my full share of misery, let me 
forget it in your arms. 

Rose. 
But your friend has warned you — I am a dangerous 
woman ! 

Ford. 
I wamt you for the dangers I may brave! 

Rose. 
[Feverishly extracting a letter from the folds of her 
dress.] Read this — read this — [gives it to him] it is from 
the Baron de Graff. 

Ford. 
Your lover! 

Rose. 
[With supreme contempt.] My lover! Read it! Read it! 

Ford. 
[Reading silently.] 

Rose. 
[Speaks zvhile he reads.] For months he has importuned 
me. He has even compromised me. His name has been 

89 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

linked with mine, and no doubt a hundred times by your 
all-wise friend ; but read — read. 

Ford. 
[Having read, with excitement.] Why, he offers you a 
king's ransom, and implores 

Rose. 
[Cutting hint short.] No, he does not implore — he de- 
mands. 

Ford. 
And what answer have you sent him? 

Rose. 
[Tearing the letter into bits, as if the act were one of 
banishment, speaks with supreme scorn.] He left for 
Austria this morning-, with insults and curses upon his lips, 
and I am proud and happy in this hour — whatever comes 
with years. Shall I tell you why? Because — branded, 
though I am — I can indulge myself in the luxury of my 
own choice. Do you understand? But I have my price! 
[hi a tone of great elation.] I have my price! 

Ford. 
Rosamond ! What do you mean ? 

Rose. 
I will tell you to-night — in my arms — and you will pay 
it. Say that you love me ! I know it will be a lie, but the 
recording angel will blot it out, for it will be a glint of 
happiness in a life that has been all delusion ! Say it — 
say it! 

Ford. 
Rosamond — I — I [She chokes off the word.] 



90 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

Rose. 
No — no, it would be a sacrilege — but you do prize the 
gift I am throwing at your feet? 

Ford. 
[Embracing her.] Rosamond! 

Rose. 

This is my hour of madness — but it is the madness of 
joy. Listen — my villa nestles at the foot of the hill. But 
a short distance from the Hotel de Paris at Monte Carlo, 
as you turn towards the sea. It is overgrown with jasmine 
and roses. You will find it. Come to me there — to-night ! 
We shall be all alone — you and I — and the silent stars. 
You will come? 

[As he moves to embrace her she leaves him, hs face 
illumined with wonder and transport.] 

[The curtain falls.] 
End of Act 11. 



91 



ACT III. 

SCENE: "Rosamond's Bower/' [A richly furnished itp- 
terior, with windows at the back that open upon a balcony 
overlooking the starlit Mediterranean Sea, with its deep, 
wonderfid blue. Through the open windows stringed music 
Hoats from the waters, the melody a reminiscence of the 
previous act.*' A bedroom adjoins the boudoir, zvhere the 
invisible Rosamond^ supposedly disrobing, is heard to 
speak, from time to time, during the opening conversation.'] 

Ford is DISCOVERED upon the balcony, first looking 
out towards sky and sea, then turning towards the inner 
room. He drawls a deep sigh of mingled pain and pleasure, 
and then murmurs, with deep feeling. 

It is so beautiful, it almost hurts. 

Rose. 
[From the adjoining room — in a tender voice.] Are you 
talking to yourself or me? 

Ford. 
What does it matter? Speech means so little. The poetry 
of it all loses in the utterance. Why don't you come? 

Rose. 
[As before.] I am trying to manage without my maid, 
as you know, and that has its difficulties. 



* The incidental melody " Silent Stars of Night " can be obtained of the publisher, Chas. K. 
Harris, New York. 



92 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

Ford, 
No doubt. 

Rose. 
Have you ever read that fairy tale of Grimm's, in which 
the maiden Rapunzel is besought to let down her hair? 

Ford. 
[Quoting it sentimentally.] "Rapunzel! Rapunzel! 
Let down your hair I" 

Rose. 
Yes, but letting down her hair must have been a simpler 
process in those days. With the intricacies of modern 
hair dressing, I can't imagine Rapunzel obeying that be- 
hest without some consideration. [Sighs.] "Rapunzel ! 
Rapunzel ! Let down your hair." It haunts me. How did 
she ever do it without her maid? 

Ford. 

History doesn't say whether she had a maid or not. [He 
comes do%i}'n.'\ 

Rose. 

Oh, surely ! In her little romance there couldn't have 
been a third, any more than in ours. Poetry demands its 
sacrifices, you know. But it is hard to be self-reliant in 
such a moment as this. I shall have to choose my own 
gown — think of having to make that mental effort all alone. 
Could I be showing you a greater mark of distinction? 
What is your favorite color? 

Ford. 
I have none. I love all colors. Just color for color's 
sake. [He sits.] 



93 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

Rose. 
My poet lover is complacent to-night — but think how 
dreadful it would be if I took him at his word. I look 
hideous in some colors. 

Ford. 
I don't believe it. 

Rose. 
And even if one poet has called us "a rag, and a bone, 
and a hank of hair," at heart, he's just as exacting about 
that particular rag as the rest of us. Are you getting tired 
of waiting? I shan't be long. Talk to yourself some more. 
I love to hear you. 

Ford. 
I don't think you would, if I were really talking to my- 
self. 

Rose. 
Why? 

Ford. 
Self-communing is not a very happy pursuit with me. If 
I were really alone, even this wondrous beauty would have 
its bitterness. 

Rose. 
That is no mood in which to greet the little god who has 
drawn us together. 

Ford. 
Who shall say the little god has done it? 

Rose. 
Who shall say he has not? 

Ford. 
[Rising.^ How all the glories of the night would be- 



94 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

come intensified if that were so. If I were really your 
lover, if that mysterious yon — with all your potent charm — 
were, let us say, that lover's bride — what a different rap- 
ture would swell our breasts ! How all the magic of this 
scene, which even now, though we know we are but trifling 
with the sacred fire, stirs us to a semblance of joy — how 
it would then uplift and exalt us ! There would be no room 
for bitterness and gall. But that is the curse and cost of 
worldliness — it shows us the tinsel of fairyland — and makes 
a pastime of our passions. {He moves towards the balcony 
again.] 

Rose. 

Do you think that your worldliness and mine are just the 
same? 

Ford. 

They may differ in degree, but not in kind. We buy il- 
lusions, and call them pleasures. [On the balcony. ] 

Rose. 
Are you sure they are illusions and nothing more? 

Ford. 
As sure as I am that this wonderful spot, Monte Carlo, 
is known to the world, not for its beauty, but for its wicked 
pleasures. But some day I shall write a book. It will deal 
with this place, and the soul-entrancing drive that brings 
us here along the Corniche Road. And though famous 
places, like famous people, are best known by their sins, 
there shall not be a word in it about the Casino, or the 
gaming tables — just about its marvelous self, reveling in 
the beauty God has robed it in. [He drinks in the scene.] 



95 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY, 

Rose. 
Will it be in prose? 

Ford. 
I shall have to write it in prose, but it will be felt in 
poetry [with a smile], which may prevent its ever being 
written at .all {returning to the roam], for even the pen 
can fumble, you know. [He has returned into the room 
and meets Rose.] 

Rose. 
[ENTERING, in silken dishabille, her hair loosely 
caught in a coil, her neck hare, a picture of sweetness, 
grace, and self -surrender.'] And what do you call poetry? 

Ford. 
[Entranced by the sight of her.] You! [He attempts 
to embrace her.] 

Rose. 
[Gently disengaging herself as she rests upon his 
shoulder.] 

Ford. 
How am I going to resist all this loveliness? 

Rose. 
I don't want you to resist it. But this is to be a lover's 
journey through wonderland. We do not want to rush to 
the end of it [very softly], but linger on the way, lest we 
should miss a single stage of its happiness. 

Ford. 
[With boyish resignation.] And how shall we begin this 
journey? 

Rose. 
Here, like this. You shall sit at my feet, and look up 

96 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

into my eyes while you speak. [She places a stool for Ivim, 
and sits on a cushioned scat above him.] 

Ford. 
[Seated as directed.] Speak ! While I am silenced with 
your beauty! [He gathers her two hands and kisses their 
pcdms.] I can't speak. 

Rose. 
That doesn't sound a bit worldly. You who have taken 
such an accurate measure of your own feelings shouldn't try 
to mislead mine. After all, I think my estimate of you is 
the true one. Was I not right when I said you were a boy ? 
My sweet, wayward, darling boy. 

Ford. 
Well, if to be overcome by your charm and grace is to 
be a boy, I am a boy. But an eager and impatient one. 
[He lays his head on her lap and clasps her knees.] It 
seems long ago that my boyish spirit forsook me. But it 
returns to me to-night. I am almost happy. 

Rose. 
Happy in a delusion? 

Ford. 
Yes. 

Rose. 
For that is what I am, you know. 

Ford. 
[With a sigh.] I know — and I am clasping you for the 
happiness it brings. 

Rose. 
But does it bring happiness ? Isn't that the bitterest part 



97 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

of it ? As I hold you close, like this [she caresses him] , if 
I were not a little schooled in that worldly knowledge you 
profess — I might be deceived. If I didn't know, I might 
think it love. 

Ford. 
No one would chide you for it. 

Rose. 
But the little god would be laughing at me. And I might 
be deceiving you with the belief that I loved you in return. 
And we should begin our journey with deceit; that, some- 
how, would rob it of its charm. 

Ford. 
Isn't that part of the game we are playing? 

Rose. 
[A little sadly.] True. True. I must not forget that 
it is only a game. 

Ford. 
How could you forget? 

Rose. 
[Pained.] To be sure. How could I forget? What 
writer is it that speaks of the trick of the senses? For a 
brief moment mine had tricked me. And as I caught your 
frank and boyish look I was almost deceived. You couldn't 
think that I loved you? Could you? 

Ford. 
I don't know what I think. 



Or that you love mef 



Rose. 



98 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

Ford. 
What difference does it make? I am happy to-night — 
happy for the first time in many months. I don't ask what 
it is that makes me so. Whatever it is, you have brought 
it to me. It is the touch of you. It is the strange hght in 
your eyes — it is the fragrance of your breath. God only 
knows what it is — but it is you. And I wish to hold it fast. 
[Clasps her fervently.] 

Rose. 
[In a tone of elation, in his arms.] And to think that 
every word you utter might be translated into love — if we 

did not knozv [Calming herself.] You were angry 

with me to-day for asking why you were unhappy. Are 
you still angry with me for wanting to know? 

Ford. 
Years have passed since this afternoon. Something 
seems to give you the right to ask now. But why should 
you want to know? I have forgotten sorrow. Is it not 
enough for you to feel that you have banished it? 

Rose. 

Som.e woman made you unhappy. That I know. But I 
am a woman, and I must plead my sister's cause. What 
had you done? 

Ford. 

[Rising, and finding a tone of bitterness.] What had I 
done ? That is the mockery and the misery of it ! If I 
could only answer that question, then, perhaps, I should 
find a surcease of that sorrow that has made me play the 
fool — the fool who even now is frittering away his life. 
But because I cannot answer it, I am doomed to self-tor- 



99 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

ture. What had I done, indeed ! Do you think it was 
through any fault of mine? 

Rose. 
[In equal agitation.^ It was through no fault of yours? 

Ford. 
No ! But how can you understand ! How can you un- 
derstand ! [In mental distress, he throws himself upon the 
cushioned seat.^ 

Rose. 
{After a pause, during zuhich she shows what effect 
his words have made upon her, goes over to him, clasps his 
head and kisses his forehead, as she speaks with much 
feeling.] Oh, yes, I can understand — my poor, poor boy! 
[A gradual change comes over him, as his momentary an- 
ger yields to her physical charm.] 

Ford. 
Don't ! Don't ! 

Rose. 
What? 

Ford. 
Don't kiss my forehead. That's in pity. I don't want 
pity ! 

Rose. 
They say that pity is akin to 

Ford. 

I know what it is akin to. But I don't want that kind 

of love. I am not really a boy. It is part of the comedy 

you are playing to call me one. It has been my part to 

play the boy. It's easy enough ! The first dawn of a new 



lOO 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

passion puts the boy into all our hearts. I know that, be- 
cause I am a man ! 

Rose. 
[Bending over him, brings him under the influence af her 
charm. His head upon her breast, she murmurs sooth' 
ingly.'] I know ! I know ! 

Ford. 
[With intensity, in a hoarse voice. \ If I am to kiss you 
— let me kiss your lips. 

Rose. 
Why, they are here for you to kiss. But not yet — not 
yet. There is so much I want you to know before our lips 
meet. 

Ford. 
What more do I want to know — than that you are you? 

Rose. 
[Close to him, their faces almost touching.] But who and 
what am I? 

Ford. 
My queen! 

Rose. 
For to-night. But there is a morrow. 

Ford. 
Let to-morrow wait. You are my queen to-night. 
[Clasps her in his arms passionately.] 

Rose. 
[Still denying him her lips.] Sweetheart — listen — just 
for a moment. You think it is easy for me to surrender 
— well — perhaps it is. But until you know what I have to 
tell, you will not be able to understand why I hesitate. 



lOI 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

Ford. 
[With returning bitterness.] You have not repented of 
your bargain? You do not wish me to leave you? 

Rose. 

[With a touch of pain.] Do not call it a bargain. See 
[clasping him to her heart], does this look as though I 
wanted you to leave? But by the love you once bore — 
no — not her — for she was false — but by the most sacred 
love you ever knew — I conjure you, do not call this meet- 
ing of ours by that name. It was a bargain, I know — and 
I am here to carry out my share of it. But in the name of 
all the beauty and mystery of love, let us not think of it in 
that way. If we can cheat ourselves into a feeling that is 
so nearly love, let us still further cheat ourselves into giving 
it a holier name. 

Ford. 

But why should we cheat ourselves at all? You and I 
belong to the same world. We drink of the same delights. 
We triumph in the same possession. Will our transports 
be lessened by candor? If one word doesn't suit, we can 
choose another. What are words; we both know the truth 
— and it is the truth that has drawn us together ! 

Rose. 
[Terrified, eludes him.] No — no — you do not know the 
truth. 

Ford. 
Then you deny me the right to hold and kiss you? 

Rose. 
No — no, I deny you nothing. God knows if there were 



102 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

a thousand rights, I should give them to you all, but you 
must listen — you must be calm. 

Ford. 
Calm ! That is the woman of it ! Calm ! 

Rose. 

And who shall tell you that it is not I w4io have the 
greater task in being calm ? The woman of it, indeed ! 
What do you know of the fire in her soul? You must hear 
my story. It is not for my sake, but your own. When you 
have heard it — take me. I am yours — your plaything, your 
goddess, your highest, your lowest, your all in all ! Now 
will you hear me? 

Ford. 

My God ! What can you have to tell ? 

[A pause] 

Rose. 

It is no long history, but it must begin somewhere. When 
I left my mother's house a year ago, I was to have been 
married to a man I loved, loved as deeply as you must 
have loved her whom you did not marry. This man — 
learning that I was [she bozi's her head and lozvers her 
voice] an illegitimate child, brought me the news, and cast 
me off. Through no fault of mine he cast me off. 

Ford. 
The cur! 

Rose. 
Do you see how our lives run parallel ? My sorrow and 
remorse gave way to bitter hatred. If the world had really 
cast me out I would give it cause. I came to Paris, de- 



103 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

termined to be avenged — but on whom? In the blindness 
of my wrath I didn't see that I alone should be the victim. 
I was surrounded by men of rank and wealth. I learned 
soon enough the grim lesson of the half-world, that men 
hunger for what they can't obtain, and indifference is the 
only gift that pays. The last shred of respectability seemed 
torn from me, and I took comfort in the thought that one 
at home would have it on his conscience, when some day 
he should hear of my downward path ! My downward 
path ! Ha ! where was it leading me to ? I left Paris 
and came here. A dozen, fifty, a hundred times. I had 
been on the point of yielding all — that absolutely last of 
all ! But no ! Something within me rebelled ! I could 
blind the whole world — I could not bhnd myself! I was 
degraded in the eyes of men and women who did not know 
— but never — as God is my judge — never could / who did 
know — degrade myself to that. [With a shudder.] No! 
Not to that! Some hidden hand reached out — some 
buried voice awoke, some conscience, some soul, some 
nameless, inborn spirit held me back! And that spark, 
which only burns in the breast of a good, pure woman, 
has never been extinguished in mine ! 

Ford. 
[Amased.] What do you mean? 

Rose. 

Tarnished, declassed, shamed for seeking shame, if you 
will, but the woman you have chosen for your queen to- 
night could not look into your eyes more fearlessly, more 
unfalteringly, if you had chosen her for your bride. 

[A deep pause.] 



104 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

Ford. 
[Awed.] Then who and what am I that I should be 
here, and by what miracle have you been led to me ? 

Rose. 
You are my chosen lover. It is the soul's hunger that 
has led me to you. The girl I was a year ago could have 
gone with her lover to the altar of the church and become 
his wife. There is no altar for such as I — save that which 
we build for ourselves with our passionate hearts. To this 
altar I have come. It is the vanquished woman, at last, 
who speaks. [She hows her head.] 

Ford. 
[Goes to her, with deep feeling.] Rosamond! 

Rose. 

Dearest ! [She sinks into his arms. He kisses her eyes, 
and zmth deep tenderness strokes her hair. The distant 
music rises and falls.] 

[A pause.] 

Rose. 

I feel as though I had come to the end of a long jour- 
ney. Weary of body, but with soul elate. Oh, the sweet 
rest of it! [Comforting herself in his arms.] And oh! 
The glad joy ! Kiss me, kiss my lips ! 

Ford. 
No. Not your lips. [Kisses her face and her hair, and 
then her hands, which he holds.] 

Rose. 
And why not my lips ? 

105 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

Ford. 
I dare not. 

Rose. 
Dare not, in this hour of your triumph ! Am I not yours 
of all men in the world — yours alone? 

Ford. 
No, darling. 

Rose. 
You do not believe me, then? 

Ford. ' 

It is because I believe that I dare not. 

Rose. 
I do not understand. 

Ford. 
But you shall. 

Rose. 
[Contimiing.] I only know that Fate has guarded me 
for this hour, to lay me, a willing sacrifice, upon your 
heart. Do not speak, but kiss me. 

Ford. 
But will you not hear me before it is too late? 

Rose. 
It is too late. The last bridge has been crossed, we are 
on the shores of Paradise. 

Ford. 
Rosamond, we must part. 

1 06 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

Rose. 
[Startled.] Part? [In a fever of self-questioning.] Be- 
cause I have bared my soul to )'ou? Because I am not 
the wanton you believed me when you bargained for me? 

Ford. 
Do not use that word. 

Rose. 
[Intensely.] I must. It was your word — and there is 
no other. Am I less fair to-night than I was at noon? 
You bargained for me then. You bade me name my price, 
so that you might pay it. [With a hurst of elation.'] 
There is no price — only kiss for kiss! 

Ford. 
There is a far greater — too great for me to pay ! [A 
short pause of wonder.] Ah, Rosamond, hear me ! [He 
goes close to her; she places her hand over his lips.] 

Rose. 
No ! No ! 

Ford. 
[Removing her hand.] It would be easy enough for me 
to yield. Every pulse in my veins is pleading your cause. 
But there is a spark in every honest man's breast that he 
dare not let die. I have never laid violent hands upon a 
sacred shrine. I can't, Rosamond, I cannot ! Do you think 
that a woman's purity counts for so little in my eyes that 
I can wantonly lay it waste? A man may be of coarser 
fibre, but deep in his nature there is something akin to the 
holiest in yours. Something that God gave to his mother, 
and his mother gave to him! 



107 



CHILDREN O'F DESTINY. 

Rose. 

[Having listened, deeply impressed, now stands lost in 
awed silence.] 

Ford. 

[Continues passionately.] You will understand it all 
more clearly some day — and you will place to my credit 
the outcome of this night — and what the parting means 
to me in self-denial. But I am only human, and I must go ! 
[Resists the inviting passion of her lips.] Good bye ! [He 
dashes out. A pause. The front door is heard closing.] 

Rose. 

[Voiceless up to nozv, in a conflict of emotion, cries out 
in a tone of intense longing.] Come back! [and sink- 
ing upon the seat, sobs in a voice of infinite feeling.] I 
love you ! I love you ! 

[The music is heard in the distance as the curtain falls.] 

[End of Act III.] 



io8 



ACT IV. 

SCENE: Walter Hobart's sitting room in the hotel 
at Monte Carlo. It is about nine in the morning. The 
room bears evidence of an all-night session. The blinds 
are still dozvn and the electric lights ablaze. 

HoBART is completing his morning toilet at a mirror, 
while Ford, pale and distracted, is seated at a little table, 
on which liquors and siphons are in evidence. He is dressed 
as in the previous act. 

Hob ART.* 

I think, Ford, I have gathered all the material facts. I 
certainly ought have by this time. Do you realize how long 
this session of ours has lasted? {Looks at clock.] Nine 
o'clock ! I think four hours ought to be enough for even 
the densest mind to comprehend the situation. Let us let 
the light of day in on it. [Pulls up blinds and extinguishes 
lights.] 

Ford. 

But how do I know that you have comprehended it? Not 
by any word you have spoken. You have expressed sur- 
prise, that was all. 

HoBART. 

The human brain is not capable of two sets of emotions 
at one and the same time. When you routed me out of 



109 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

bed at five o'clock this morning, and bade me not to say a 
word, but just listen, I obeyed. For four hours I have lis- 
tened. I have not exhausted the one set of emotions. 
What may follow my surprise I am not prepared to say. 
There's one thing, however, I shall have to do, as a direct 
result of your confidence, which I rather resent. \Goes to 
escritoire at hack.] 

Ford. 
What is that? 

HOBART. 

Destroy about a dozen pages of the most interesting 
material contained in my article on the Riviera. [He finds 
the pages, and tears them into hits.] 

Ford. 
[Impressed hy this, rises.] Hobart, there's something 
fine about you — damned if there isn't. 

Hobart. 
Very likely. But this doesn't prove it. My boss, the 
yachtsman, makes us verify things before we print them 
— and in the light of recent developments I wouldn't care 
to stand the yachtsman's test. So much for my profes- 
sional attitude in the matter. Now for my personal. I 
take it that the last thing you are looking for in your pres- 
ent frame of mind is advice. 

Ford. 
I won't say that. Why have I told you all this? 

Hobart. 
There's a blessing in the gift of speech, just for the re- 
lief it gives the speaker. But you do not want advice — 



no 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

you would not be worthy of all that flood of feeling if you 
listened to it. You will work out your destiny in your 
own way, and all you will expect of me is to slap you on the 
back and say, "Well done !" 

Ford. 
No matter how I shall work it out? 

HoBART. 

No matter how. But this much I do know. You will 
have to provide yourself with a clear outlook before you 
find your solution, and for that purpose you need sleep. 
You haven't slept, to my knowledge, for twenty-four hours. 
Go in there. Lie down. I will close the door. You shall 
not be disturbed for an hour, at least. You will be amazed 
what an effect an hour's sleep, taken at a crisis, will have 
on a man's life. [Leading him to the bedroom.^ And 
while you are sleeping, you can transfer to me all the ex- 
cess of mentality that is now disturbing you. That will 
give me the time I need to shift from one set of emotions 
to the other. 

Ford. 

[Starts to speak, changes his mind — gratefully clasps 
Hobart's hand, and allows himself to be led off into the 
adjoining roo^n.] 

HoBART. 

[At the door.] If I should be called away before you 
wake I'll leave any message for you on the alarm clock ! 
[He goes to his telephone and notifies the office that he 
wants a hallboy. He comes down to the table, takes pen 
and paper, and begins to write a letter, becoming absorbed. 



Ill 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

A knock at the door is unheeded; then repeated. After a 
pause the door opens, and Langhorn appears timidly.] 

Langhorn. 
I beg pardon. 

HOBART. 

[Not looking up,] Just a moment. I want you to take 
this note I am writing to Room 74. 

Langhorn. 
Fancy that! I have just come from there. 

HoBART. 

Eh! [Looking up.] Why, hello, Langhorn! I was ex- 
pecting the hallboy. 

Langhorn. 
I gathered that you were expecting somebody. You said 
something about Room 74. 

HoBART. 

I am sending this note to Miss Laura. 

Langhorn. 
She isn't there. 

HoBART. 

What do you mean? 

Langhorn. 

There's some mystery. Some delightful little mystery. 
I love little mysteries, and it's always my good fortune to 
be in one of them. But I need help this time. I need help. 

HoBART. 

[A little impatiently.] You look it! 



112 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

Langhorn. 
Fancy my receiving a summons at nine o'clock this 
morning, rousing me from my soft repose. [Chuckling.] 
Ho ! Ho ! I don't get soft repose every morning — not at 
Monte Carlo. No, indeed ! But last night was one of my 
particularly solemn and virtuous nights — I went to bed at 
eleven ! 

HOBART. 

Do come to the point, Langhorn. The messenger will 
be here in a minute. [Knock at the door.] There he is 
now. 

Langhorn". 

Send him away. You won't need him. Miss Laura is 
not there, I tell you. 

HoBART. 

[Puzzled, goes to the door, and dismisses unseen mes- 
senger in pantomime, Langhorn talking during the ac- 
tion.] 

Langhorn. 
My summons was from Mrs. Winfield-Chase. She was 
alarmed. She had been awakened at an unusually early 
hour by Laura, who was dressing to go out. Mamma was 
too sleepy to ask a lot of questions, so she dozed ofif again, 
and when she was awakened for good, Laura was gone. 
Fancy — gone out at nine a. m. Nobody goes out at Monte 
Carlo at nine a. m. — that is — nobody that / know. So 
what does Mrs, Winfield-Chase do, but send for her Ju- 
lius ! There is one thing I will say for Miriam, when she 
is in doubt, she sends for JuHus ! She may affect to spurn 
him under ordinary circumstances, but give her a crisis — 
and her first impulse is to send for Julius. Do you know, I 



113 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

like that ! It makes me feel like a factor in her life ! I 
love to feel like a factor ! Now, what does Miriam say to 
me, when I answer her summons, but : "Find Laura !" 
Just as she might say : "Pass me the pickles !" "Find 
Laura !" And what could I say in response, on the in- 
stant, but : "Certainly, my dear." And she bade me go 
forth, and I have gone forth. Now, won't you please tell 
me where Laura is, so that I may find her? 

HOBART. 

Don't be absurd. [Seriously.] Do I understand you to 
say that Mrs. Chase really does not know where Laura is? 

Langhorn. 
Well, 'pon my soul, what is the use of giving you all 
these eloquent details, if you can ask such a simple ques- 
tion as that? What am I here for? I am told to find 
Laura — and what more natural than 

HoBART. 

Ask me to find her for you ! Is that your idea of serv- 
ing people in a crisis? 

Langhorn. 
Can't you tell me where she is ? 

Hob ART. 
I haven't the slightest idea. 

Langhorn. 
Why, she is your fiancee. You certainly are the first 
one she would go to. 

HoBART. 

I see you are working on a theory, at least. I didn't 



114 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

give you credit even for that. But I am as much surprised 
as anybody that she should have left the hotel so early in 
the morning, though I refuse to be alarmed about it. 

Langhorn. 
I am glad to hear you say that. That's what I said to 
Miriam. "Don't be alarmed ! Don't be alarmed !" But 
it didn't have much efifect. It's mysterious, you must admit 
— it's mysterious — and if it were not, as I said before, that 
I do like a little mystery 

HOBART. 

Just where do you propose to look for her? 

Langhorn. 
Where ^o I ? If you fail me, I shall feel rather foolish. 
I don't quite know how to reason this thing out. I try to 
put myself in Laura's place. I ask, where would a young 
girl be likely to go to in Monte Carlo, so early in the 
morning, without her mother's knowledge — and, by Jove, 
I'm up a blind alley. I keep thinking of the silly story I 
read in one of the papers, of the man who offered a re- 
ward in the village to any one who would find his missing 
horse, and when a yokel did find him and return him to 
the owner, the owner asked how did he manage to do it, 
and the yokel said: "I thought out where I would be likely 
to go to, if / were a horse, and I went there and found 
him !" 

HoBART. 

{Laughs.^ 

Langhorn. 
But, somehow or other, that doesn't fit my case. I 



115 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

can't for the life of me think where / would go to, if I were 

a horse — {quickly correcting himself] Miss Laura! 

{They laugh. A knock is heard upon the door. The 
laughter ceases.] 

HOBART. 

Come in ! 
[ENTER Laura.] 

Langhorn. 
By Jove ! Talk of the 

Laura. 
[To Hobart.] I want just a word — it is urgent. 

Langhorn. 
I'm so glad you've shown up. I've been sent out to 
search for you. 

Laura. 
Mother was too sleepy to understand my explanation. 

Langhorn. 
Now that I have found you, I will report at once. 

Laura, 
Please don't. 

Langhorn. 
But she has been worrying dreadfully. 

Laura. 
She won't have to worry much longer. I shall go to her 
directly. 

Langhorn. 
But if I return without you? 

ii6 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

Laura. 
Don't. Can't you lose yourself for ten minutes? 

Langhorn. 
I might try. Monte Carlo is an excellent place to lose 
oneself in. I will give your mother a very elaborate ac- 
count of my search. I may have to invent a marvelous 
line of travel — but it will have to end here — so if in ten 
minutes she should come in personal pursuit — don't be sur- 
prised. But you may depend upon me — I shall go on the 
wildest kind of a goose chase in search of you in the mean- 
while. And with these few remarks, Julius will go forth 
with a sense of duty well performed. So-long! [Waves 
his hand to both, and departs.] 

HoBART. 

What has happened? 

Laura. 
[With some agitation.] I received a letter early this 
morning. 

HoBART. 

From whom? 

Laura. 

It was signed "Rose." But before I tell you about it, 
Walter, [She presses her hand fervently] you won't up- 
braid me ! I was right, dear, yesterday, when I told you 
I recognized her. It threatened a breach between you and 
me — then — and I hardly know now how you will receive 
the news that I bring. 

HoBART. 

[Quietly.] You have just come from Rosamond's house. 



117 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

Laura. 
[In almost inaudible surprise, she nods her head.] Yes. 

HoBART. 

[Stroking her hair.] Go on, my dear. 

Laura. 
She told me her story — Httle by little. Oh, if you only 
knew the beginning. 

HoBART. 

I do know it. 

Laura. 
[Amazed.] You do! What do you mean? 

HoBART. 

When you have finished 

Laura. 
What more shall I tell you? Walter, what is to become 
of her? She is going away. Where to? She couldn't, or 
wouldn't, tell. But, surely, there must be some one to ad- 
vise. As that thought came to me, with it came the 
thought of the mother whom she needed, and I thought of 
my mother. What should I be without her? What if she 
would take her mother's place ! Oh, if I could only bring 
this about ! If you, Walter, could help me. And you will ! 
For with all your cool, discerning brain, you are my true 
and gallant lover, with a warm, tender heart that you may 
conceal, but you can't disown ! And I want your head and 
your heart both — for there is a life's happiness in the bal- 
ance. {She finishes, pleadingly, in his arms.] 

HoBART. 

My brave little girl ! How can I resist you ! You have 

ii8 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

captured my love and my logic in one raid. [Caressing 
her.] Now let's figure this thing out together. You seem 
to attach great importance to the meeting of Rosamond 
with your mother. 

Laura. 
Surely. 

HOBART. 

Who shall agree, when doctors disagree? Not that I'm 
going to oppose that idea ; on the contrary. But in all en- 
terprises of life the greater absorbs the less. I am going 
to bring about an even more vital meeting. You and I 
shall assist destiny. How does that strike you? 

Laura. 
It sounds wonderful ! 

HoBART. 

I, too, had an early morning visitor. And I am in a 
better position to understand the true import of your story, 
from having heard both sides of it. 

Laura. 
Why— Walter— what 

Hobart. 
Sh-h-h. [Silencing her zvith a little comic pantomime 
directed towards the bedroom.] Don't let us wake the 
god out of the machine before his time. [She expresses 
amazement.] Listen. You are to bring the party in ques- 
tion to a meeting with your mother, at this hotel. Can 
you do it? 

Laura. 
Why, she is waiting for a word from me over the phone. 



119 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

HOBART. 

Send her that word. [As she starts.'] But wait a mo- 
ment. You don't know yet how we are going to assist 
destiny. These are your mother's rooms — that is to say, 
they become so in this instance — for destiny's express pur- 
pose. Do you begin to grasp my idea? How many min- 
utes is the distance to be traveled? 

Laura. 
Not more than five. 

HoBART. 

Destiny is in luck ! Now you can summon your party 
of the first part. Do so in the office downstairs [mith pan- 
tomime, as before], for obvious reasons. Meet her below, 
and bring her up here. Then Destiny can take the case 
into her own hands and dismiss her understudies. You 
will join me in Room 74, where I shall be waiting for you 
[with a tzmnkle] with mother. And as a final postscript 
— should there be anything unforeseen to add to these ar- 
rangements, I will leave a note for you on this table. [/«- 
dicates it.] 

[Laura kisses him, with much e7tthtisia~sm, and goes 
out.] 

Hobart. 

[Left alone for a moment, scratches his head in thought. 
Then he gets alarm clock, and brings it with him to table, 
sits and scribbles on a card ivhich he attaches to the clock. 
As he starts for bedroom, knock is heard at door.] 

Hobart. 
Come! 



120 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

[ENTER Mrs. Winfield-Chase.] 
[Hob ART rises.] 

Mrs. Winfield-Chase, 
Pardon me, Walter, but Mr. Langhorn said I should 
lind Laura with you. 

HOBART. 

You must have passed her in the elevator. You will 
probably find her in your room by the time you return, 

Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
From his account, he must have been looking for her in 
the most extraordinary places. I should have thought he 
would have come here first. 

HoBART. 

One would have thought so. When you return to your 
room, I should like the pleasure of accompanying you. 

Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
Oh, thank you so much. I do want to talk with you. 

HoBART. 

Oh, it's a very simple thing. But will you pardon me 
while I take this clock into the next room ? It won't take a 
minute. Then I shall be entirely at your service. [Goes 
off zvith the clock into the bedroom, and returns at once.] 
Now I am ready. 

Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
It's a singular coincidence, but do you recall, Walter, 
that yesterday Laura insisted on the resemblance of a cer- 
tain person to a friend of ours in Washington? 



121 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

HOBART. 

Yes. 

Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
I have just received a letter from the mother of this 
very friend. It contains some remarkable information. 
Would you care to see it? [Producing letter.] 

HoBART. 

Thank you. [She hands him the letter. He semis it.] 
May I keep it for a while? 

Mrs. Winfield-Chase. 
Yes, if you like. I should like to talk it over with you. 

HoBART. 

Shall we go below? [She nods. Going to the door, he 
opens it for her.] I will join you in a second. 

[She goes through the door, he hurries back to the table, 
previously indicated, and lays the letter he has just re- 
ceived on it conspicuously ; then follows Mrs. Winfield- 
Chase off.] 

[A slight pause.] 

[The alarm clock goes off in the adjoining room. Not 
too long. Then a pause.] 

[Voice of Ford, as if talking to himself.] 

Ford, 

It's God's own sunlight. 

[He is supposed to have awakened and found the note on 
the clock.] 

[Another pause.] 

[During this pause, music from the hotel orchestra is 
heard playing the melody of previous act.] 



122 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

[After a reasonable space of time, voices of Laura and 
Rosamond are heard outside hall door.] 

Laura. 
[Outside.] Here we are, 
[ENTER Laura, followed by Rosamond, veiled.] 

Laura. 

Mother will join us in a minute. [She immediately 
goes to table and finds letter. She scans it quickly, and 
decides at once what to do with it.] [Rosamond has re- 
moved her veil.] 

Laura. 

Here is something that may interest you. [Hands letter 
to Rosamond, zvho is seated, and as the latter opens it, 
during zvhich action a printed slip falls out on the floor, 
Laura silently withdraws from the room.] 

[Rosamond picks up the slip, and reads it with emo- 
tion. She reads the letter through, then wipes a tear from 
her eyes, and is lost in thought.] 

[ENTER Ford, with Hobart's card in his hand.] 

Ford. 
Rosamond ! 

Rose. 
[Surprised, rises quickly.] You — you 

Ford. 
[In excitement.] He told me the truth! He said you 
would come ! 

Rose. 
[In bewilderment.] What do you mean ? Where is Mrs. 
Winfield-Chase? 



123 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

Ford. 
What do I know — and what do I care! I wake from a 
dream to find the dream come* true. 

Rose. 
But I am to meet Laura's mother here! 

Ford. 
Here, in Hobart's rooms? 

Rose. 
These are Hobart's rooms? 

Ford. 
Yes. Didn't you know? He left me this note. I didn't 
quite grasp it when I read it. It speaks of assisting des- 
tiny by letting you believe you were going to meet Laura's 
mother. I understand it now! It was to give me the 
glorious chance of seeing you again! 

Rose. 
He did this! He — Hobart — by what miracle? 

Ford. 
We had neither of us understood his nature. It has 
more than a practical side, begotten by his craft — he is full 
of a high purpose, like all who have loved and suffered 
— like us. Rosamond, I told him of what I had lived 
through since last night. And this is his answer. He has 
brought you to me. 

Rose. 
And did you wish it? 

Ford. 
It is a prayer fulfilled. 



124 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

Rose. 

[In sweet antasement.] Your prayer fulfilled? 

Ford. 
Mine. 

Rose. 
But we did part — we parted — in farewell! 

Ford. 
No — not in farewell, for [zmth deep feeling] I love you. 

Rose. 
[Moved.] You love me? 

Ford. 
I know it now. Through the hours of self-questioning 
that have passed since I held you in my arms, my heart 
has beaten but one response. I love you. I love you. [He 
attempts to take her in his arms.] 

Rose. 
[With a vague fear.] Do you know that it is love? 

Ford. 
If it is not, why should I fear to lose you? And oh, 
Rosamond, if I should fail to kindle in your heart the true 
passion that is in mine 

Rose. 
[With throbbing fervor.] Fail! Did you not hear my 
soul's cry when you left me ! It seemed as if the very 
winds of heaven must carry it to you. If it was not love 
that I offered you last night — in God's name, what was it, 
then? 



125 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

Ford. 
Then you are mine ! Now and forever ! To have and 
to hold till death us do part. 

Rose. 
[In real transport.] Ah ! If it only could be ! 

Ford. 
It can be — it shall be — and on any altar you may choose! 

Rose. 
[Her face illumined.] Oh, my own! I could not let 
you make the sacrifice ! 

Ford. 

What sacrifice can / make, greater than you have made? 
Over the road of sorrow we have journeyed towards each 
other. There were two zealots, wandering through the 
thorns of separate paths, bruising, scourging, torturing 
their flesh. They meet — they gaze into each other's eyes 
— and they fall to healing each other's wounds. 

[A pause.] 

Rose. 

But when the fervor of our romance has died. In the 
harvest time of reason. In the days to come? 

Ford. 
The harvest time of reason is now. You, who in spite 
of heredity, temptation, environment, all those false beliefs 
that make for weakness and wrong — can bring as your 
dowry that strength of character that has kept you pure — 
you can have no fears for the days to come. And of your 
strength you shall give me a share. 

126 



CHILDREN OF DESTINY. 

Rose. 
Strength ! Oh, my dariing — see ! [She is weeping.] 
This is all the strength I have. But these are tears of a 
great joy. And see, sweetheart — my new life is beginning 
with a happy omen. This letter came to-day — it is from 
my mother. My fa — her husband died many months ago. 
Read this printed slip, which the letter contained. [She 
finds it, and hands it to him.] 

Ford. 
[Reads.] "Married at Washington, on June ist, the 
Count Laurento di Varesi, to Isabelle, widow of the late 
Richard Hamlin." [He is impressed. He looks at her 
u^ith deep feeling. She responds to his gaze with tranquil 
happiness, goes to him, lays her head on his breast. He 
kisses her as the curtain falls.] 

[End of the Play.] 



127 



h??. IS 1910 



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